How in sweet holy hell am I supposed to work in an environment like this? I was vividly awakened at an hour even the Black Church of Set would have trouble considering holy by the sound of my neighbors (sic) providing top-notch service and care for their large green waste receptacle (which in their hubris they have named 'Herbie') in the form of stuffing the fucker with the collective treasure of their children's toy chest. Plastic missile trucks and lead-lined Japanese imported action-figures of the kind that can shift a good ADHD curve up a few notches were in the process of being unceremoniously (and by the looks of it, clandestinely) disposed of by the parents of the three blonde hellions next door, a triumvirate of Aryan toddlers who for the past several weeks have declared open hostilities against my tomato plants. Far be it for me to interfere with the discipline of children (that nastiness in Terre Haute notwithstanding), and certainly the sight of parents disposing of their kids accumulated worldly crap struck a chord with my anti-consumer bent, but I nevertheless sniffed a thin but pungent tendril of Coyote in their furtive and hushed movements, and went outside to investigate.

"Evenin'" I said quietly, eyeing the coming dawn.

"Oh!...H-hello, Britton", replied Steve, the masculine half of the pair standing before me, suddenly looking as if they had just been caught practicing the Dirty Sanchez for prom night. An object which closely resembled a fruit bat covered in aluminum foil slipped from his fingers and lay pathetically on the thin strip of ground which separates our two houses. I resisted the urge to snort. "Just some spring cleaning...", he added, picking up the little god and depositing him with his fallen comrades. His wife continued her long and distinguished tradition of eyeing me like the hemp-smoking degenerate she knows I am, begun lo those months ago when I "ruined" her garden party by "letting the smoke from my weed-cigar float over the fence and terrify" her visiting relatives. I apologized somewhat, adding that my involvement couldn't have been all bad, since her oyster dip went over gangbusters and the kids were sound asleep before sundown. We hadn't spoken since.

"Anything you need help with?" I asked, in a way which may have been described as 'innocent'.

"Nope, just making some long needed changes. We're into this new thi-"

"SHHHH!", interrupted Claire, waving her hands frantically. "Ixnay on the urchchay!", she hissed.

"Er...we...just cleaning..." Steve fumbled the backpedal, but I had heard enough. Smiling silently, I fetched my daily mail from my living room and rejoined the weds outside, their whispered argument vanishing like a conjurers hands as I approached.

"This got sent to me today, by the way." I said, handing them a magazine entitled 'Celebrity'. Steve looked guiltily at the cover before accepting it, his face betraying even more shame when he noticed the glazed and empty smile of John Travolta beckoning him on the cover. His jaw did push-ups trying to articulate what I already knew was coming, but couldn't bring himself to say. Claire looked like she wished she were a Transformer, who would have a good excuse for crawling into Herbie and staying there. I wish I could say I felt bad for letting them squirm, but I couldn't. They smilied nervously, I smiled back confidently, and the moment persisted. Finally, I set the hook.

"You know, your trip up the bridge will be much easier with more OT control. LRH has a new series that will give you total confidence over your Thetan training." I said cheerfully, turning away as their eyes widened in horror. I didn't wait for a reply. Walking back into my kitchen, I decided to prepare for the coming sun with a worship offering of latte and White Rhino, and sat down quietly to observe the ritual.

It began slowly, as always, with night's sinister palate gently giving way to the undeniable return of Helios, a soft susurrus of warmth and light to clarify and dispel. I sat and watched the sun rise, phoenix-like, in the east, quietly joyous in this most ancient and sacred rite. I closed my eyes and saw my heart and lungs like gourds in soft earth, swelling and pumping to the unseen cadences of the universe, simple and quiet and perfect. Light broke against my face like a wave, and I laughed out loud at the beauty of it, for a moment unable to distinguish between what I consider light and darkness. The moment ended quickly, but I kept smiling, my mind already wandering through my mundane gardens and pathways. No planting today, I thought, as I donned my shell of clothing, and, leaving the cups and bowls uncleaned, turned south to face my life.