Tomorrow is Friday. That at least is certain.
And today is August sixth. Thirty years ago I was startled by a god-awful noise shrieking through an otherwise quiet Toronto (memory says it was Sunday, but in fact it was Tuesday; cannot explain why I wasn't at work, then.) It panicked me; I jumped on my bicycle and peddled to the family house to take refuge. (Memory says no one was home; can't think where my sister and brother might have got to.) It was of course air raid sirens, commemorating the 40th anniversary of Hiroshima; and I fancy unofficial, because they never sounded again.
(Fifteen years later, more happily, I was watching compilation tapes from my sister's trader in Japan, and skipping ahead to find the next Saiyuuki episode.)