I’m at the beach with pine cone. It is rather stifling, even in the shade. Seniors stare at me, wistfully. Only seniors can stare without inviting my wrath. I turn to pine cone, “Would you like a smoothie, little one?”
But pine cone is busy thinkng about social justice, cold fusion, the abyssmal state of America’s economy, poor dead dear Jack Layton, the Dirtbomb’s wonderful first album, whether death is the end or whathaveyou.
“Come, now, wouldn’t you like a smoothie? They’re delicious.” Now I want one. But nothing, not a word from pine cone.
So it’s going to be a week of this? Like taking Marina Abromovic to a Tom Green film.