Mustard Yellow

Canada is afire and I’m confused, shouldn’t the snow put that out? The Boston sky is an interesting shade of mustard yellow, and there’s a pale orange haze where the sun should be. Lisa, drowsily asleep-walked into the kitchen for her morning coffee. “So this is Mars,” I observed, “Elon Musk will be so jealous.” “Good,” Lisa said, “I was afraid it was nuclear winter.” “There’ll be no breathing today.” I updogged. We could almost hear the slow, delicate pitter-patter fall of micro-ash. “*There’s aaaa bright golden haze over Boston..*” Lisa began to sing softly. Lisa knows every Broadway score and can easily interpolate a song into every conversation. . . *Webster: Interpolate: inserting something, like music into a conversation