It was not a dark and stormy night. The clocks were not striking 13 in London…or at least I guess I would not have been hearing them strike 13 if I had been anywhere near England. Please don’t call me Ishmael. I think it sounds too much like Ishtar, and besides, it’s a boy’s name. Masculine though I may seem at times, I am most definitely all woman. It wasn’t particularly the best of times OR the worst of times. It was one of those mildly gray valleys that wouldn’t really qualify as a depression. A word that sounds like a cross between dysrhythmia and dystopia. It wasn’t that long ago, and I’m assuming it was in a galaxy near near to where you are. I have yet to encounter avid readers of English from outside the Milky Way.