Mr. Mojo Risin

Do you ever just want to hug the world? How can summer be so beautiful? It’s not even technically summer yet. How can not-winter be so beautiful? By not being winter.

When my cylinders are all clicking, I call it mojo. Mojo descends abruptly and leaves when it wants. Making offerings to St. Mojo won’t help. You’re either blessed with mojo, or not; and only for the moment.

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