Just because it's 10/1 the weather question is a clue. At daylight's happy hour, the inner treadmill is silent, mercifully. If Mars intends to detract, there's a food pocket in the boy's chops where the appetite hides.

When the extemporaneous chugs like it came from the brain anus you can be sure the only reason for today's plop is that 10/1 tag. There are now brain cuticles where the manicures there once showed signs of a more clever awakening. So welcome October, big things are staged to drop in the best way.