| It is not just the frenetic new rage which permeates Skiattle these days or my own dirty digs with broken tv, vcr, pc and dustmites as big as pigs and enough hard and soft copy to sort from here to eternity plus the ever present wetfall which propel me downtown to Avis for relief from some or maybe all of this -- for Booker T in the ear and away southeast to the badlands of low sun, high hands and sage. It is also the winking, blinking card simplicity under skys where even the rain is dry and nobody knows me. |