"It must be summer," said Ken the driver, as the other afternoon I boarded his bus, down in the unburned lands. "You're sporting your colors."

He meant the Hawaiian shirt. For now that the Seattle is receding, we are approaching the temperatures that are Wrong, and so it is time to go to the Hawaiian shirts. Except I reviewed these shirts recently, and determined that an unacceptable number, they now feature holes, of one sort or another. The Second Law of Thermodynamics, it can really be a pest, sometimes. And there is nothing I can do. Because, unlike the Beatles, I am unschooled in fixing the holes where the rain gets in, and Paradise Surplus And Trading Post, where I would buy the authentic Hawaiian shirts, for $2-$5 each, it burned down. So I guess I will just have to go with the holes. And why not? I just spent the past several months wandering the land in the long black coat with the scorch marks from the electric wall heater. So, why not, summer holes, too? This, our motto: Holes R Us.