Fred Willers was having a bad day. Well, this was not entirely true. More specifically, he was having a decidedly bad morning. In fact, even this was not completely accurate because he had just gotten up and was still staring forlornly at the water in his toilet as it finished flushing down his morning constitutional. Still, even with only this scant indication, Fred Willers was positive that he was already in the clutches of what was going to be, a decidedly bad day.

There comes a time in everyone�s Life when something in the Rhythm is incontrovertibly askew. Completely obvious to the inflicted individual; yet, the general populous remains conspicuously ignorant of it, greeting you with the same cheerful, vapid manner they always do, asking you about the weather, and lamenting last nights� box scores. Fred wondered to himself why no one else seemed to notice how the sky was the wrong shade of blue, the air smelled of something acrid, and the birds weren�t singing quite their same song. �Oh well, shake it off,� Fred mutters to himself as he forces his lips into a smile. �New day, new opportunities��

Turning from the open window he�d been gazing from to dress his aging body, Fred evaluated himself in the bathroom mirror. He was a little hairier, a little bigger around the middle, and a little more stooped; but even in the midst of his morning funk, Fred had to admit that it wasn�t all that bad for a middle-aged insurance adjuster with two kids, a homely wife who loved him, and a three car garage. Like most men, he felt that he was somewhere between 5 and 20 pushups from being in the same shape he was when he almost tried out for the football team in High School. Fred sticks out his gut and his tongue in the same instant, and slaps his protruding belly in mock disgust, mumbling to himself, �Better cover all this up before the ladies knock down the door!� Maybe this wasn�t going to be such a bad day after all. (and what was all that about acrid air?)