There are snippets of songs, not whole melodies, but enough that your capitalistic spirit draws you in and you pull out a credit card with a $516,498.22 limit on it. You could buy anything! The Czech Republic! Cotton candy! Enough Nalgene bottles to fill the old community center on 32nd street!
My friend is becoming a famous actress in Chicago, and now she can't eat falafel sandwiches in peace. She doesn't mind, really, because people ask her about cheese in Wisconsin and if she believes in post-modernism. (Or is that not believe? Or not not believe without the connotations of a double negative?)
Anyway, she still doesn't fork over the quarters for clean sheets, and she still notices that, in time, they smell like avocados - OS NOT OES - and everything is very much a bridge OR EVEN a Brigitte Bardot song.
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