I’m in the burbs, though not by choice, sitting in a backyard surrounded by grass and bugs and sunshine. My son wings by in his electronic car with the neighbor’s kid riding shotgun; they’re screaming happily and trying to run over the dog. A bee roughly the size of a small airplane buzzes close – reminding me of my plans to pave over every square inch of the yard and build a subway station under it. God, to show His mercy, has kept me within radio range of the city so at least I can listen to the Mets.

For a change, the Mets are winning. I’ve got my New York Times, leisurely smoke, and try to ignore the bees as best I can so as to read about the people of Arizona. Unlike the Mets, they are not winning and what they’ve done, if left to stand, can drag us all down with them.

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