On the road
No, I’m not ignoring you. It’s nothing to do with that business with the cilice and the rabbit; I thought that was rather sweet, and certainly original.
In fact, sir, the Blonde exploreth, cruising from that veriginous Cisco town glittering with foggy bay and natty gay to the dust-dank tawny depths of that sere, scrubby valley they call Napa. Chapped lips ruby-stained, freckled snout heady with foxy, vinous spice, the Blonde is priming her pen. There’s a whole new vocabulary out here, island-dwellers. Tremble.