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As always, I was in this restaurant, reading this book. Today, so-so chain barbecue, and an author on about the Beats, 'those fantastic open-sensed men with their slightly regrettable prose'. Heh. I look up.
As I do, the barbecue sauce I'm rolling on my tongue suddenly peaks, a little burst of hotness. There's something half-epic and half-emo crescendoing on the radio, drums and teen-pain. Over the bar, Iron Chef Bobby Flay slices a honeydew melon, a kinetic sculpture of knives and unconscious economy. A pretty purple-haired girl beams at someone off over my shoulder, and thrusts her hand forward to wave. It all washes over me in an instant. If Kerouac could see the... happy purple girl. No. If Kerouac could see Bobby Flay's, hang on, knives flash to the drumbeat knives don't come close to the drumbeat. If Kerouac... has pain. Wave of emo heat. Spicemelon. Kinetic epic Flay wave. Purple! None of these things go together! Gah!
Hey, remember when Batman did that thing? That was awesome. Mmm, Batman.
As I do, the barbecue sauce I'm rolling on my tongue suddenly peaks, a little burst of hotness. There's something half-epic and half-emo crescendoing on the radio, drums and teen-pain. Over the bar, Iron Chef Bobby Flay slices a honeydew melon, a kinetic sculpture of knives and unconscious economy. A pretty purple-haired girl beams at someone off over my shoulder, and thrusts her hand forward to wave. It all washes over me in an instant. If Kerouac could see the... happy purple girl. No. If Kerouac could see Bobby Flay's, hang on, knives flash to the drumbeat knives don't come close to the drumbeat. If Kerouac... has pain. Wave of emo heat. Spicemelon. Kinetic epic Flay wave. Purple! None of these things go together! Gah!
Hey, remember when Batman did that thing? That was awesome. Mmm, Batman.