The rasping cries of dying pilgrims, worse than a tree hyrax screaming into the night, woke me. For the umpteenth time. Oh yes, those are my lungs fighting that weird “flu” going about. The Peril had it, Dom at work has it, I have it, but . I have things to do! Places to get to, planes to catch, citadels in which to swan about, art to die for, in the best sense, where you fall about wasted and grateful.