Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Bombay Potatoes, Bombay Gin

It all seems so unnaturally French at this point. I stood in Pythagoras' shadow trying to get the thing in tune. I traded a fistful of diamonds for it and now I see them all over Chinatown for a song. I don't really care. The family jewels are embarrassing and a hindrance to enlightenment.

If only it all rhymed.

Sleep just won't work around here tonight. Not for me. Not for that old dog. Lottie would say that our nerves are bad. I suppose they are.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

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