Elsie and I are sitting out on the patio of a Mexican restaurant, margarita tasting, she calls it, a recent, not convert, how’d she put it? Initiate? Noviciate?
“Yeah, I like it,” she says when I ask. “Gives a bit of religiosity to it, don’t you think?” Continue reading
Listen. (That’s the important part.)
It’s a world already dinned with cacophonous noise. The zones filled with shit. Bullshit, specifically. Applied indiscriminately by firehose. By design. Continue reading
“… two Big Macs, Barnaby, two Filet-O-Fish sandwiches, a chocolate milkshake and maybe, sometimes, fries,” Cecil concludes with an addendum. “At one time, Barnaby! A single order for one person!” Continue reading