Select waterfront. What’ll it be? Mancini’s wild brother? On the waterfront or in the clouds?
Can’t handle coming to terms with the tab racked up by now. Desiring parietal advisory, explicit to the next millennium, while the kidneys recover in time for next utopia. Season’s greetings from the peristaltic simbers. Season’s greetings and also—advance warning to Santa Ana that if Santa Ana wants to come around right about this time of the year then I’ll just have to be standing solemnly oceanside and waiting to knock Santa Ana back into the catcher’s mitt. Ever seen a fellow solemnly stand oceanside? Then you know what I mean.
Now, don’t hold me to it, as I didn’t say what ocean or what side or even what town or what side of either town. I could be front and center in Arizona or Ohio for all we know. But I’m really really really letting my thoughts drift now, but isn’t that what one is supposed to when they visit the shore for a little “breather,” where the biggest decision I’ll make all season is which version of “He Went to Paris” to play. I’m relaxed, if you couldn’t tell already. Relaxed, thanks to Will Redman. Now which glass is a snifter and which glass is for smelling salts?
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