Your flights of fantasy nosedive into three squares which you concede is an odd number for the health-conscious. Gym rats continue to derail your train-of-thought with offers of sidebars and makeovers and junkets. You have been carved out and readied for the last coat. There's nothing to do but wait tables. Your failure to make eye contact with the old neighborhood has raised concerns about your suitability as a soulmate. The ball is at the top of the pole. The track is clear. The conductor raises his baton. The first movement begins. You are on your way.
