Medium will be spared my midsummer rant. I’m not sure why this is the time of year when I usually pick up my poisoned pen. Perhaps it’s the riot of ice cream and badly grilled hot dogs in my belly, or pond water trapped in my inner ear, or the accretion of mosquito and deer fly bites keeping me up at night, but somehow this period of hours, when all seems good and there should be nothing to complain about, inspires me to sit down at the iron pig and…
