Impatience rattles me.
I have enough crap going on in my head that I don’t need anything else clattering around up there.
The Cozy Mystery comes, but it comes slowly.
Oh, so slowly.
Doubt, of course, follows.
So, I’m about ready to hang the old “Closed” sign on the front door and go fishing for the next 30 years.
Selling fresh carp on the street corner seems like a viable option at this point.