Θυμάρι

So long, and thanks for all the fish !

Driving Blind – Ray Bradbury

Travel does that. Two weeks of luscious foods, rare wines, long sleeps, wondrous architectures and a man wakes ten years younger to hate going home to be old.
Myself? I was at the absolute peak of losing years by gaining miles.

**********

My butcher watched, as a cat might watch a rather strange dog.

                          **********

“Paintings make me nervous,” he admited. “What I really like is walking around. Italian women! I’d like to ice-pack and ship them home!

Stadler’s [steak] was so rare you could run blood tests on it. Mine resembled a withered black man’s head left to smoke and char my plate. “My God,”  he cried, “they treated Joan of Arc better than that! Will you puff it or chew it?”  “But yours,” I laughed, “is still breathing!

He killed his dinner. I buried mine.

**********

It was a fine summer night with three cigars, one cigarette, and assorted knitting on the front porch and enough rocking chairs going somewhere-in-place to make dogs nervous and cats leave.

**********

 “Just the weather for a few seconds, now and then.”

**********

She heard Thomas Barton’s song. Her heart grew an ice crystal.

**********

In the kitchen, the lion roared.

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