“Uh, yeah. Inadvertently. More or less. Was just doing a scene from Apocalypse Now, got kinda outta hand. The famous scene where the VC chick blew the chopper. All because we had grenades. And we had grenades because Lonnie’s fucking brother, Marty, who just had his pancaked head crapped on, brought them in a suitcase.”

“Patricide is so Dada. And anything in a suitcase is so Duchamp. Father, lover, incestcomplex, sisterpast, motherfuture. The Baroness blamed her father’s adultery for her mother’s death.”

I’m pondering my response to that when G comes out with L, the blue brute wrapped in towels.

++++++++++++++++++++++

“Oh, no thanks, I did some White Lightning with Magda and Luxe just before I drove over. One limpid drop, crystal potency. I’m quoting the Baroness.” She slips her Ray-Bans up and grins. “Saucerorbs agog enorm!”

“You’re tripping again!?” This is Mir, in love shock. “And you drove over by yourself with nothing but a little knife!? You didn’t bring that scythe?”

“It’s not that little,” says P, patting her hip sheath. “It’s more like a machete. It’s all I need. There was no one on the road at all. I figured I’d better come before it got dark, or I’d never find you.”