A Week After My Drugs Ran Out,

Because I've Always Been A Fairly Nervous Person.

The Walking Tour Guides One Through The City's Various Landmarks, Reciting Bits Of Information The Listener Might Find Enlightening. I Learned, For Example, That In The Late 1500s My Little Neighborhood Square Was A Popular Spot For Burning People Alive. Now Lined With A Row Of Small Shops, The Tradition Continues, Though In A Figurative Rather Than Literal Sense.

A Zoo Is A Good Place To Make A Spectacle Of Yourself, As The People Around You Have Creepier, More Photogenic Things To Look At.

Hugh Returned From His Trip, And Days Later I Still Sounded Like A Red Chinese Asking Questions About The Democratic Hinterlands. "and You Actually Saw People Smoking In Restaurants? Really! And Offices, Too? Oh, Tell Me Again About The Ashtrays In The Hospital Waiting Room, And Don't Leave Anything Out."

The Only Bright Spot In The Entire Evening Was The Presence Of Kevin "tubby" Matchwell, The Eleven-year-old Porker Who Tackled The Role Of Santa With A Beguiling Authenticity. The False Beard Tended To Muffle His Speech, But They Could Hear His Chafing Thighs All The Way To The North Pole.