[The first segment of this was written today at 12:02 p.m., when the internet connection was not functional at Camp Lefty, and I therefore wasn't able to post from the coffee shop next door over my breakfast burrito. As Charleton Heston would say, "darn the luck!"]

I'm sitting in a coffee shop here on Foothill Blvd. in La Canada. There are a couple of firemen having lunch two tables over.

They are discussing what firemen are always discussing: home remodeling, coubustile materials, and food. But, of course, mostly food.

Good Lord: firefighters are even dishier than cops. And they cook as a rule; I can only advise young ladies to stay away from 'em. I can't imagine that it's easy to break things off with a fireman.

(Now someone is going to point out to me that the average firefighter cannot converse intelligently about the Bloomsbury Group. Which is fine. They cook. Did I mention that?)

* * *

Note to Professors Purkinje and Fractal: Speaking of famous late-20th Century Angelenos early 20th-Century Londoners, A Space Child's Mother Goose is back in print!

Here's the only rhyme I remember somewhat-accurately therefrom; will someone fact-check me on this?

A Pimlico dream
Of the Bloomsbury Group
May have made Mayfair
A Keynesian soup.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:51 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 175 words, total size 1 kb.