Vapors. Mist. Song Included.

There I was happy. Peacefully clueless. Then it happened. Thunder clap. Vapors. Mist. Without warning, I was channeling Roger Miller. (Cue: fingers snapping) Sing along with me....

"Trailers for sale or rent;
Rooms to let, fifty cents.
No 'phone, no pool, no pets:
I ain't got no cigarettes.
Ah, but two hours of pushin' broom,
Buys an eight by ten, four bed room.
I'm a man of means,
By no means king of the road.

Third boxcar, midnight train,
Destination: Bangor, Maine.
Old worn out suit an' shoes:
I don't pay no union dues.
I smoke old stogies I have found:
Short, but not too big around.
I'm a man of means,
By no means king of the road.

I know every engineer on every train,
An' all of the children, an' all of their names.
An' every handout in every town.
An' every lock that ain't locked when no one's around.

I sing, trailers for sale or rent;
Rooms to let, fifty cents.
No 'phone, no pool, no pets:
I ain't got no cigarettes.
Ah, but two hours of pushin' broom,
Buys an eight by ten, four bed room.
I'm a man of means,
By no means king of the road.

King of the road.

King of the road."

Channeling Roger Miller. Not an altogether unpleasant feeling.