Helluva cold that was. It hit out of the blue–don’t they always–and rapidly whipped through the usual litany of symptoms, finishing up it’s business yesterday. I cursed my healthy immune system–that’s all the symptoms of a cold are, really, your immune system getting hysterical–and watched a lot of old movies. Some channel was showing a string of film noir, which was perfect, and even more perfect was the sticky southern gothic perfection of A Streetcar Named Desire, me crumpled on the floor, sneezing, coughing, aching, high on sweet cherry cough syrup, reciting Stanley’s lines.