Hailion. Hail plus heroin? Or is it lion plus hail? Hail the size of softballs stuffed with syringes, some broke. In one was the mane of King George, the local zoos forty-year old lion. Nomatter. It was all in a dream last night while I was walking the beach for the very last time. And that’s the thing about dreams, eh. You don’t pass in them. You just wake up in their nightmare. Or something like that. Rant on.