Bitterstocking – the thoughts of whom stunned me silent at Cooper Street Chilis rest. Remember globular bouncy clarinet? Band field, morn warming me five yards behind my nostrils flared to pull oyx from the dewy air to fuel my shine. No act long buried under the crust – no girl from the mamas ever so pleased me if my memory is firm.
So there went dinner. Carol wonders where I went – 47 years back to the loose dirt, pebbles of the Band Field, click click click went the cadence. Boingka – that’s no business.