34. dog do afternoon
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Denver had finally made it out of the
bathroom and was moving to the beat of the morning Tamba being
broadcast by the local university radio station. Depressed as hell on
the warm yet windy overcast autumn morning, he stood on his
dilapidated balcony calling for his two cats.
“Kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty.”
Damn, what a fuckin’ beautiful day. A day where I should be beating
my breast in glee but I just don’t feel like it. I can’t stand living
in paradise.
Indeed it was another beautiful day. The morning had broken and birds
were chirping in the trees. The smell of fresh coffee wafted over
from his neighbor’s kitchen. The streets were silent, empty of
traffic. An almost surreal calm permeated the Grid on weekends. It
was as if, the whole downtown community had gone searching for
something to do and wound up instead eating sticky buns and reading
the Bee or the Sutters Weekly at their neighborhood coffee house.
“I can’t stand it. I am so bored with the USA. There must be some
turpentine around.” He waved to Janet, who was outside sprinkling her
garden.
“Hey. You managed to clean your part of the sidewalk?”
“Yeah, from your tree! Just kidding.” She pointed to the decomposing
heap of elm leaves piled in the street, and turned to Denver who was
descending the wooden stairs in boxer shorts and the russian version
of his now infamous T-shirt.
“Hey. You look different. You got no hair. You almost frightened me.
Geez Denver, what did you do that for?”
“It’s a long story.” He rubbed his head. “It has to do with feeling
like a worthless amoeba, Janet.” He changed the subject. “Wow, your
garden looks better and better.”
“Yeah. I’ve been out here all morning. It really took some scrubbing
to get all the sap off the cement.
“Wow. You scrubbed the cement.”
“Ah. It was nothing. It gave me something to do.”
“Thanks Janet. Your rainbow patch is something else.” He walked over
to the flower bed. “Amazing how the flowers change colors throughout
the day. Who would of ever thought that would be possible?”
“Yeah, but I am thinking about taking them out. Look. Come here,
Denver.” She signaled for Denver to approach. “Nothing grows next to
them.” And she pointed to the border of the flower patch. “I used to have
a row of wild lilies and they didn’t come up this year. And the
strangest thing is.” She looked up at Denver. “You want to know?” He
shook his head eagerly.
“Notice anything strange about this patch?”
“I think it is strange that the flowers change colors but call me old
fashioned.”
“No. Look closer! Sometimes it’s better to look for what’s missing.”
Denver bent over and examined the beautiful floral display.
“It’s beautiful. What can I say? So perfect.”
“That’s it. Don’t you see? There are no weeds. Look over here.” She
pointed to another corner of her garden. “I am forever pulling up
weeds here but the bed of rainbow flowers is weed free. Isn’t it
strange?”
“Yeah. That’s weird. Oh, the wonders of science in action. Did it say
on the package that it was weed free?”
“Something like that. But it didn’t say that it prevents other plants
from growing as well.” She said rubbing her chin with the back of her
gloved hand.
“I hope my cats don’t eat them. Have you seen them around?” Denver
asked and called out for his house pets.
“Yeah. They were running all over the place looking for creatures to
kill and eat when I was raking up leaves. Oh! Here they come.” Paris
and Berlin came running from behind the victorian.
“C’mon kitties. C’mon.” He tapped his upper thigh to signal the cats
to follow. “C’mon kitties. Let’s get something to eat. Ciao Janet.
Thanks once again for raking up the elm leaves.”
“Oh. No problem. Like I said, gave me something to do.” She waved to
Denver and returned to sweeping the sidewalk.
Denver trudged up the stairs with his two cats running in front,
waiting for him to open the screen door to the apartment.
He waved to Janet wondering to himself if the woman ever got any
sleep. She was always active. If she was not sewing by night with the
television or stereo running, she was in her front garden by day.
He knew she took speed regularly like so many of his bored fellow
Gridmates. It was a paradox to him why people in downtown sacramento
consumed massive amounts of coffee, let alone took speed, when there
was honestly not enough to do in this town to keep a dead man
envious. Denver was already so bored during his waking hours that he
had no reason to prolong them. As far as he was concerned, so few
interesting events happened when he was conscious, that there could
be nothing tempting enough over which to lose sleep.
He let his cats inside and followed them to the kitchen, muting the
volume of the television and turning on the stereo in his living room
on the way through the apartment.
“This is K.D.V.S. in Davis.” The student disk jockey announced. “What
you just heard there was: Kant be Howe with ’Two Ways Around It’, The
Hegels with ’Synthesis’, and before that we heard an old classic from
Norma Child, ’Butterflies Are Free at the Zoo’. We are coming up to
the hour and it’s time for a little news bulletin.” Denver listened
to the radio as he fed his cats and prepared his morning snack.
“Members of the The Yami Sect, a radical offshoot of the Seven Day Advents have committed what eye witnesses have testified in saying,
as the worst mass suicide of middle-aged professionals ever to occur
in the state. Tim Lee Sun their leader, along with thirty-five men
and women, were found naked lying in comfortable positions on
mattresses throughout the converted farmhouse. It seems that each
member met his or her death individually, privately in a quiet
corner. There were no signs of distress or violence. The method of
suicide is also unclear. After the bodies have been moved to the
morgue, forensic specialists will take blood samples and pump
stomachs in order to determine the cause of death.”
“This sect’s leader preached a doctrine of self-love thought self-
accomplishment. He set goals for his members. Apparently, a
particular goal was not met and the only way out was through mutual
suicide. Many questions still remain unanswered.”
“This just in: in San Ysidro, California, a white middle-aged gun man
shouting derogatory remarks entered a Burger Queen and shot or
wounded at least twenty people before being picked off by FBI sharp
shooter. One female witness is quoted as saying. ‘If you moved, he
shot.’ In a strange coincidence, all nine victims of the Burger Queen
shooting were women. There has of yet, been no link established
between the killer and the fast food local. Those surviving this
bizarre incident will need years of counseling to find closure.”
“Weather continues to wreak havoc around the world.
Fires are raging out of control in Spain and France
and in the mountainous regions of the United States,
where the lack of rain has left forests in these
areas dry and now burning like matchsticks. On the other side of the
barometer, the rainy season has left countries like Bangladesh and
Indonesia with more than their share of water. Victims are still
being rescued from trees and rooftops with rainfall not predicted to
let up in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Now onto some local news, Sacramento has recently registered the
worst rating in the United States for survival awareness among its
population. Only one in seven Sacramentans is aware of shelters or
relief programs that are available in the area in case of
emergencies. The city of Sacramento has been hit over the past
winters with potential inundation, but each time, the city has
managed to avoid catastrophe by flooding instead one of its outlying
suburbs. Many privileged Sacramentans are unaware of the potential
disasters that could occur in the valley and are unaware of the
relief programs available to them.”
A firecracker went off outside on the porch. “Hi. Denver. It’s me.”
Micky yelled as he turned down the volume on the stereo. “Did you
hear about that son of a bitch who went into Burger Queen?”
“Just heard it on the radio.” Denver appeared from the kitchen, and
gave a wave to Micky. “What is a year’s supply? How many firecrackers
did you buy?”
“Oh wow. You shaved your head!” Micky exclaimed, taking off his newly acquired silver fire fighters jacket with asbestos lining and hanging
it on the coat rack in Denver’s hallway.
“Yeah. I finally did it.” He rubbed his palms over his recently
shaved head and walked into his bedroom. “I’m frustrated as hell and
I feel like shit.” He entered the living room while buttoning his jeans.
“Now, at least, I look like I feel. My love life is fucked just
because I believe in fairy love. My job life is fucked up because I
can’t stand being treated like a slave. I am a black sheep of society
and I can’t do a damn thing about it. Always the last to know, I
can’t seem to make anything happen. Go with the flow …,” he said
dragging out his sentence. “But then, nothing ever flows. I’m tired
of waiting for somethin’ to happen. I want it now! I have come to the
conclusion, Micky,” he waved his hands in front of him, “that my life
is going no where fast.”
“But it is, Denver. But it is, and so is mine.” Micky threw his
plastic shopping bag onto the coffee table and sat down in the ochre
vinyl armchair that overpowered the room with its size.
“Fuck! Is it okay if I bitch for a moment? Can I count on your
support in my self pity?” picking up a sweater from the sofa and
putting it on. “I know it’s pretty pathetic.” Micky nodded
affirmatively. “Listen, we’ve been trying to do something for how
long now?” Micky shrugged his shoulders. “Too long! I want some
respect. I am tired of doing all this art shit for the city and
getting criticism left and right. It’s ridiculous. The only reason
I’m doing all this stuff is to relieve the boredom but apparently,
this type of ’entertainment’.” He said making quotation marks in the
air with his middle and index fingers for emphasis, “is not needed
and I am made to feel like I am a freak. The people in this town are
like the smelt in the delta. Shiny happy people all crowded together
in a swamp of life, thousands upon thousands, squirming about, bored
out of their minds, groping for that spark of enlightenment that will
save them from themselves.”
“Boy. Dilute man. You are the art martyr if you keep on preachin’
like that. Do you have something to drink? My throat is a little
scratchy from this funky skunk that I have been smokin’.” Look at me!
Am I complainin’? I’m living in a car. When I woke up this morning, I
had no money and I got …”
“Hey, you got a piece of sticky bun stuck to the side of your mouth.”
“It’s not a sticky bun. It’s a cold sore.”
“Geez Micky. That’s disgusting.” He walked over to get a better look.
“Have you done anything about it? I’ve got some Blistox around.” He
scrunched up his face to show his disgust for the open wound. Did you put anything on it? Hey, you’re wearing my shirt. I was wondering where that version went.”
“It’s okay.” Micky rubbing his chest instead of putting his hand over
the sore to disguise his affliction. “I just got some ointment for it
from this retired landlady I met. I just did a job. I cleaned out
this woman’s cellar. I got some money for it and she gave me a box of
junk that I could maybe use.” He crossed his legs in front of him and
pointed his toes. “I didn’t see what she was putting in the box. We
can have a look after a while.”
“Did you bring the box?”
“No. I left it in the Galaxy. I’m supposed to go back and dig a ditch
for a compost pile.” He said while wiggling his feet.
“I made some coffee. I’m sure you’ll want a cup.” He went into the
kitchen to continue his host duties. “I don’t have any milk. I just
got packages of Creamira that I’ve been stealing from coffee shops.”
“That’s creative. I brought some sugar.” Micky said pulling packages
of sugar from his pockets and threw them on the living room table. “
I also brought some sticky buns and a newspaper. See Denver. Just
this morning when I thought I was at my lowest, Life played itself
positively and restored my faith in living.” He pointed with his foot
to the plastic bag on the table as Denver returned with two cups of
french roast.
“So how’s the job searching goin’?”
“Geez Micky, I haven’t been unchained from the wheels of commerce
that long.” He handed him his coffee. “I have been asking around a
little, but it seems that all the cool cafés where I would want to
work have enough people and they’re even starting to cut back. But
look, Micky. I will forever be barred from major employment because I
dress funky and have no automobile. Power was my last chance and I
only worked there for one day less than a year. I can’t believe those
bitches from hell cut me off before I could collect welfare.”
“Don’t sweat it. Everybody who’s worked for Power has gotten fired.
Besides, you did the right thing.” He glanced over at Denver’s CD
collection before taking a sip and setting the mug on the coffee
table in front of him. “We’ve all worked for dirt wages, are treated
like slaves and get no benefits, but there are perks to the job and
you have taken advantage of them well, like so many of us. I look at
it this way, it’s Power’s way of paying us sacramentans back for
putting them on the untouchable.” Denver sat down on the tweed
couch across from Micky and collected the accoutrements for a joint
scattered on the coffee international business map.”
“I think I’m casted as an untouchable.“ Denver sat down on the tweed couch opposite Micky and collected the accoutrements for a joint scattered on the coffee table. “I haven’t been trained to do anything
with practical money making skills, like hair dresser or dental
technician. I just have a major in french and a minor in design. What
the fuck am I going to do? Be a french speaking room designer? What a
great profession to be pushed into!”
“How ’bout a job at the soup factory?”
“Campbells! I am not going to get stuck making tomato soup. Are you
serious?”
“I am. Pat got a job there and she has a doctor in cosmetology, and
so did Bruce who I am sure has a ph.d. in drama. They say it’s pretty
good conditions. You can work part time if you want and they’re
hirin’ right now and, in fact, it is tomato season. Besides, it’s all
you can eat processed soup.”
“What? The Art Dresser and the Art Fag are churning out can-made
recipes, doing quality control and factory maintenance. How come
you’re not working there?”
“’Cause I’m living in the Galaxy for a year and happily employed
being an artist. The thing is, I’m just not getting paid for it. Oh,
well.” Micky shrugged his shoulders. “The unfortunate conditions of
living in an uncivilized country.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Denver testified.
“How ’bout the Long Center. They are often looking for people to
teach the mentally disabled. Ask Hossanah or the Art Wurst, Ken
Wiener. He’s been working there so long you begin to wonder where to
draw the line between the teacher and the students.”
“But it’s way out in the south area. It would take me an hour to ride
my bike to get there. Look, I am not really sweating it right now.”
He said. “Did you bring the Bee?”
“Yeah. And I stole some sticky buns from Slaveway. Do you want to
heat them up?” He pointed to the plastic shopping bag on the coffee
table.
“Why didn’t you mention it before? Here. Give ’em to me.” Denver put
the rolled joint behind his ear, took the package of Select Sticky
buns out of the plastic bag and went into the kitchen.
“C’mon.” He yelled from the kitchen. “Let’s eat our buns on the porch
and watch the speed queen work in her garden. You got to take a look
at this rainbow patch she’s got growing. It’s taken over her garden,
killing everything in its path. I’ll meet you out there.”
“I don’t want to go outside. I like it in here. It’s warmer in here
and more cozy.” He said leaning back in the armchair. “I like sitting
in your armchair. I feel like a captain on a spaceship. Too bad this
thing don’t spin.” He pressed a make believe button on the armrest as
if to call the engine room on board a spaceship.
“Bridge to engine room. You know what we need to do? Lieutenant
Denver, are you listening?”
“Affirmative.”
“You know what we need to do? We need to organize and successfully
pull off a neo-erroristic, compost modern performance piece and shock
Sacramento off its rice fields. How’s this idea for you? What do you
say about doing a pyramid with cans of Sacramento Tomato Juice?
“Wait. I can’t hear you.”
“I said,” yelling, “a pyramid of Sacramento Tomato Juice.”
“I got a better idea. How about a pile of genetically manipulated
tomatoes?” Denver yelled back.
“We got neon.”
“We can combine the two. What’s the space like at NoToDo?”
“It’s a concrete room.”
“What?”
“A concrete room!”
“Micky, grab the coffee!” Denver said passing through the apartment
holding a plate of microwaved sticky buns. “Ode to the goddess
above.” Denver exclaimed, almost dropping what he was carrying.
“Where did you get that jacket? I didn’t know there was more to die
for.” Micky sprung out of his commando chair and rescued his
firefighter coat before Denver had a chance to try it on.
“I told you. From that retired landlady who I cleaned house for.” He
put on his jacket and followed Denver outside to the porch, savoring
the fresh baked aroma of the warmed sticky buns.
“That is a mighty fine jacket.”
“Ain’t it though.” He reached into the pocket and pulled out a small
stack of photos.
“Denver, you want to see my new Fotoroids? Look. Here is that thin
waitress at the Bum ’n Burn. Doesn’t she look ill, compared to fat
Avon?”
Denver shot a glance at the photo before setting the plate of sticky
buns on the plastic milk crate that served as a table, foot rest,
storage space, plant stand or extra seat.
“Here is a postal worker and a pool cleaner. Here’s June at her
Choice Market.” He handed the photo to Denver, who sat down in a
dilapidated wicker garden bench that creaked under his weight. “I
like this one. I took a picture of a news reporter on TV. It has an
eerie quality about it, don’t you think?”
“Looking good.” He picked up the stack and examined the photos more carefully.
“I decided to do a series of people at stupid jobs. Here’s a couple of
shots of a state worker. Here’s another one on TV. The Psychic Pet
Channel. Look at these two women and the dog. Wouldn’t that look good
blown up?
“And here’s the best one so far. Do you know who she is?”
“She’s that weird artist girl who’s got all those strange men
following her around all the time.”
“Yeah. The Art Whore.”
“She’s working in that sunglass store at the mall, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t she look stupid sitting in that cubicle?”
“Did you bring the coffee?”
“Oh I forgot.” Micky went inside the apartment to retrieve the mugs.
“I went down to SMAC and picked up the grant application for the
library project.” He said as Denver reappeared. “Not as if I have a
chance.”
“I don’t even know why they even have those grant applications.” He
handed Denver his coffee mug. “I’m not even going to bother fillin’
one out.”
“And they’ll wind up giving it to someone from out of town, as
usual.” He took a sip of coffee and rested the cup on the porch
banister. “I thought you had seen the NoToDo space. It used to be a
gym underneath the Mason building.”
“Yeah. I was there for the annual Bunny Ball but it was all decorated.”
“We’ve got to do something with tomatoes?” Denver looked up at Micky.
“Yeah. But what? A pile of tomatoes to rot? It’s been done before.”
“Sure everything has been done before. We’ll just interpret it
differently.”
“Yeah. I know. You know what I just did. I smoked a cigarette at a
Burger Queen.”
“You did what?”
“You said it. I did the unthinkable. I broke the taboo. I did my own
little neo-errorist action.”
“What did they do?” Denver took the joint from behind his ear and lit
it.
“Well see. I pretended not to speak english very well when I was
ordering my food. Plus, for added effect, I had a russian magazine
under my arm. After I ate, I lit up. Boy, you should of seen how fast
a bee came a buzzin’. This drone was over me in seconds but of
course, I pretended not to understand. I did make a sign that I need
an ashtray.
“Boy. That threw her. She looked at me like I had asked her to
slaughter her first born son. I made the offer to put it out on their
plastic food tray. Panic seized her. Then on the floor. She didn’t
like that idea either. She turns suddenly and goes into the kitchen.
All the while, I’m sittin’ there puffin’ on the cig and the other
customers are gettin’ nervous. You could almost see that they wanted
either to kill me or light up a cig themselves but lacked the guts
either way. So she comes back and gives me a little ceramic plate. I
put it out gracefully and she takes it away like it was some dog
poop. Right after, I had this feelin’ that the customers wanted to
applaud.”
“Rockin’ dude.” He handed the joint to Micky. “Here. This is
certainly a lot better than the crap that you’ve been smokin’. We
should expand on this theme.”
“Why don’t we do an installation at a gallery where we recreate a
café where you can smoke and drink whiskey. People should get an idea
of what real life is about and drugs are a part of it.” Micky pulled
on the joint and rested his legs on the porch railing.
“Hey. You’re not goin’ barefoot anymore?”
“Yeah. Finally you notice. I’m over it. It was an interesting
confrontational act with society. It’s like having bad teeth. People
treat you like a an ape. So how’s your teeth doing?”
“I think one is about to fall out.” He said probing it with his tongue.
“There really is something totally asocial about being barefoot or
having ugly teeth. Yet again, why should people be forced to wear
shoes or have super white teeth? Aren’t teeth only supposed to last
forty years anyway? “ Micky took a nose hit. “People in other
countries don’t wear shoes. My feet were probably cleaner when I was
barefoot than in these shoes all cramped up and stinkin’.” He wiggled
his used pair of leather office shoes and handed the roach butt to
Denver. “I think it’s cowboy. Do you want to finish it?”
“No. Go ahead and give it to the goddess!” At which Micky flicked the
burning ember between his index and thumb fingers and sent it over
the porch railing. “It’s getting a little cold out anyway, right? You
know, I was hoping some shoes would come along, and behold, I am
supplied.”
“Were there any dentures?”
“Maybe in those boxes in the Galaxy.” He leaned back into the bench.
“Hey, you know who I ran into at the City House last night?” Denver
said changing the subject. “It was the Art Goddess. She said, she
just got back from the opening of that polyester shirt show in Nevada
City. Did you hear about it?”
“Yeah. I read something about it in the Sutters Weekly.”
“We were talking about it. Funny thing polyester. They make fibers
out of little plastic pellets.”
“Who’s supposed to be Art Goddess?”
“Guess.”
“Belinda?”
“No. Everyone knows she’s the Art Diva.”
“Okay then.” He took a moment to reflect. “It can’t be Vella, because
she’s the Art It.”
“Can I also be an Art It, so we can be Art Its?”
“No. You’re already the Art Martyr. Sorry.” He said yawning.
“Well. Then who then?” also yawning. “Wendy?”
“You got it. Bingo.”
“The Art Bingo. I wonder who could be the Art Bingo? Did you play the
lottery god?”
“I played the lottery god once this week. When I had a flurry of
change in my pocket. But I didn’t win anything.”
“I played, too. But I did.” Denver announced and pointed to himself.
“Yeah. I prayed and prayed and fate, disguised as little guardian
angels, sprang into my lottery card and I got four numbers right. So
I am not so poor anymore and I feel like treating.”
“Well bless you for trying and bless you for continuing to believe in
the wonderful lottery god, who works in mysterious ways, sometimes
dumping his riches on the most unsuspecting of scratchers.”
“I almost peed right there at the liquor shop. I just felt the urge
to play, walked right in, bought a vegetable stick, played once and
won. That’s the way it is supposed to be.”
“So Wendy is the Art Goddess. Yeah. She’s a good Art Goddess. How
long has she been making those portraits of herself? She’s got it
down pat. I saw her too the other day at Sunbeams. She was wearing an
orange and pink sari and a big brass bracelet that was meant to be
welded onto the ankles of women to keep them from running away. Heavy piece of shit. I don’t know why she was wearing it.”
“You know why, don’t you? She was probably bored out of her mind with
painting herself and decided to dress up and go out instead. The only
problem,” he looked at Micky, “is there are no places to go in
Sacramento except to the local coffee house. Was she there with
anybody?”
“Yeah. She was there with Astro Bob.”
“That’s no surprise. She gets along really well with Benny’s side
kick, Robert. She’s always been inclined towards european
spirituality and the new age. The two of them must hit it off really
good. I bet they’re working together on some sort of cosmic ways to
exploit the art world.” Denver also put his feet on the porch railing
and leaned back into the wicker bench, which creaked with every
movement.
“You know, Astro Bob does a chart on artists before they are let into
Benny’s stables. That’s why the likes of you and me will never get
into their gallery. We were born on a bad day. Our planets were not
correctly aligned. Chaos is our ascendant. Stop is our sign!” Micky
held out his hand in front of him.
“I dunno. He said that he would give me a show within a year.”
“That’s bullshit. He just said that to keep you out of any other
galleries, or to stop you from searching. No Denver. It is an evil
trick. He just wants to keep you in tow until he can figure out a way
to make money off of you. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“A couple times around the show at End Art. I have been going to his
openings and showing my face. He keeps smiling. I have a good feeling.”
“Good feelings don’t pay the rent. He’s so slimy. That’s why I’m not
in his stables. I sold my work independently. So he got all furious
and refused to show any further work. I wouldn’t hold my breath if I
was you. Besides, I told you, we were born under unlucky stars. We’re
like super novas, young, hot and evolving, and are ‘bout ready to
explode.”
“This is depressing. I’m already in a foul mood and now you lay this
shit on me. Thanks.”
“Just trying to tell you the truth.” Micky paused and they both
sipped at their coffee, and then he put his hand on Denver’s shoulder.
“Look buddy, I feel your sadness. I’m not trying to make you feel
worse. I’m really sorry.”
Pausing a second before saying dejectedly, “Ah, it’s okay.”
“Maybe we should leave town for awhile. Go to the coast and rest our
souls a bit.”
“I know I am in a bad state, Micky. My ego has a lot to do with it.
I’m just not one of those who sit around and wait for something to
happen. I’m a mover and a shaker. That’s why Peach left me. I
accepted change, he just endured it.”
“You accept change? Since when?”
Denver ignored the question and changed instead the subject. “You
know what I saw on the net a few days ago?”
“No. What?”
“I was surfin’ for communes and I found this site under gogosunshine.
It was just a camera shot of a bare lightbulb hanging from a black
cord. Like I said, it’s just this burning brightness and this sound
of a high-powered electrical transformer humming in the background.”
“Wow. That’s sound pretty cool. Have you checked it again?”
“Yeah. I’ve been checkin’ every once in awhile. It’s always the same
thing. Sometimes the bulb moves ever so slightly. You get excited
when it does. And that electrical hum. I had it on the other night,
while working and you won’t believe this. Ever so softly, you start
to hear this phrase. It kinda spooked me when I figured out what she
was saying.”
“What’d she say?”
There was a pause as Denver inhaled deeply and, with the same rhythm
as the voice on the website, he softly chanted the phrase until Micky
understood.
“Wherever you go, you take yourself!” he shouted. “That’s brilliant.”
No comments:
Post a Comment