THE POEM ABOUT ADDICTION
agony
bliss
rinse
repeat
agony
bliss
rinse
repeat
I kind of worshiped her. I did worship her.
Mickey Donovan, narrator of Dreaming Baseball, remembers.
Talmadge groaned. He wasn’t used to climbing the 684 steps to the top. Leaning on the rail, he had to admit the view was spectacular. Had he not admitted it, Cranston’s threat to punch him in the kidney would have been carried out. Cranston herself evidenced not the slightest physical symptoms of the grueling ascent. Having only one leg, therefore having hopped all the way up, her ease of manner and lack of exhaustion was that much more impressive.
‘Well, there it is,’ she said.
‘Yep,’ agreed Talmadge.
‘Here are the wings. Strap ’em on. Let’s see if they work,’ said Cranston.
Talmadge, seeing no alternative, strapped on the wings. He almost felt giddy, but not quite.
‘Jump,’ ordered Cranston.
Talmadge jumped, and lo and behold, the wings worked! He floated gently to a smooth splashdown far from shore. If only he’d known how to swim.
The answer, my friends, is ‘c’. I’m sure everybody got that one right.
There’s never too much of Brigitte when one realizes that:
a. no one could possibly be more attractive wearing triangle dangle earrings.
b. no one could possibly be more attractive wearing so many big clunky bracelets.
c. no one could possibly be more attractive.