Arriving at work this morning I was greeted by the ragged, decomposing corpse of the next-to-last brine shrimp in my EcoSphere. One to go, the lonely task of consuming its last companion a heavy burden on its already sorrowing exo-skeleton.

I do wonder how death strikes them, what flickering animating stimulus drains off or flickers away. Does the shrimp rest awhile before keeling over, sensing its doom and quietly awaiting it, or does is just suddenly stop in its normal frantic activity, and settle slowly on the bottom? But the time and patience for observation elude me.

Yesterday was the second anniversary of marriage between Mrs The Fyd and myself. As is our young custom, we had our picture taken in the lobby of the Benson and then ate dinner in that hotel's restaurant, the London Grill. I had buffalo ribeye. Very good, but with the escargot and bread very filling, and so felt bloated for much of the evening. As did Mrs The Fyd, with her filet mignon. Silly folk that we are.