I headed out for a long run this morning.

(As I type this I realize how malleable and relative the term is. A few decades ago the same distance would have been short. Ah, well.)

What I want to write about, though, is the astonishing number of flying specs of annoyance that accompanied me for most of my shuffle. There are always a few pests dotting around, but today was one of those days—very humid, very still, very—what?—heavy, when they seem to really swarm.

When you’re moving along, you have to breathe, and your nose needs some fairly forceful help from your mouth. And so a number of the little buggers wind up on the wrong side of your teeth. Most of them you can breathe out or cough out or spit out, but there are always a few who choose to use the other exit. This morning’s cloud of protoplasm was especially thick, and I got home thinking I really didn’t need my normal breakfast.