LXXV


I stuffed a pepper with no intention of eating or serving it, convinced that food inside other food is a sin. Not as big a sin as others, but you can’t just pick and choose the lighter heathen actions and pretend they don’t matter; if it’s a sin, you just don’t do it and that’s Continue reading LXXV

LXXIV


Everything smells like gasoline around here. More accurately, everything smells like a combination of gasoline and tamarind. More accurately, everything smells like gasoline, tamarind and week-old kitchen sponge. More accurate yet, everything smells like gasoline, tamarind, week-old kitchen sponge and Sunday newspapers. You know what? Everything smells exactly the same to me anyway, so all Continue reading LXXIV

LXXII


What is there to gain in this boardwalk town? Mainly stuffed bears for shooting moving wooden ducks, pigeons, turtles and raccoons–the usual representations of animals that are defenseless against ball bearings fired from close range by two young people who rather fancy themselves to be expert marksmen (if given the chance). Though, in their heart Continue reading LXXII

LXXI


Just so you know, a limited quantity of burlap satchels has graced our splendid corridor, enough to take a family of six to the Poconos or even Appalachia for a long weekend, with enough room left over for a two-day side trip to wherever they so desire, as long as they don’t need to travel Continue reading LXXI