Where is that promised sunshine?

It barely squeaked through the stagnant foggy layers; they look like my head feels. Taking a page from John Muir, I walked for a while in chilly air to try to flush out the bugs. Hot chicken noodle soup at the Coop helped a bit, and a cheery conversation with a woman I've seen around the area for years added to the distraction. She was sitting at the tiny counter area in the deli section, and just a glance and smile triggered her. She was reading the New York Times, and tsking about the imminent demise of the best of our two local papers, the Post Intelligencer. Then she switched to how glad she was that the Idiot and Darth Cheney were on the way out inside of a week, with which I heartily concurred. She paused, then said,"We don't do windows, do we? And you know, an old friend who died recently told me,'Dustballs never killed a Liberal.'"
Kind of round about, but I again concurred.