Spurt of Sweet

Steely Dan is on the tuneage. David is blending a fruit, Badella. On the same counter El Capitan is slicing apart a can to make a key to pick the outer lock of David's courtyard. I'm predicamenting the bingo tickets we've bought to redeem for gamepieces for the local Coop bank as the ladies David has been trying to woo into dancing and drinking with us later in the night will likely be at the Bingo.

I want nothing to do with such revelry. What I want is a bicycle, the night breeze and something up like Material or Eno's brighter rackets on the ipod.

We have gotten back from visiting David's farm where we bought a fresh chicken from a neighbor. I got to carry the bag past the kitten who had just been tossed the intestines. The bag was still warm and liquidy.

And no matter how much Steely Dan we listen to while cooking the bird soup, the breadfruit he boiled up still tastes exactly like chestnuts. The badella turns the vodka into a tasty drink and the seeds that he left in are fat pumpkin seed encased in a slime goo like a comet you catch with your teeth to try and crack open for the spurt of sweet.