Sunday, March 6, 2011

sausage horizon

Saintly sausages grilled a la Saint Lawerence, for the curious, the gridiron used to roast the saint is on display in Rome. Roasted on a spit, burned at the stake, be careful not to char the sausages. Wait until sweaty fat drops ooze from the intestine casings, then apply mustard and eat with a pickle.

Excommunicated from the hive, Lohbado set off into a new world of bleak desolation, but with spacious calm and serene waves. He stumbled into the wilderness of heartache, sorrow and pain to discover the beauty of truth. On Rock Hill, he found a plate of sausages and a can of beer. He ate them, drank the beer and immediately felt better.

Lohbado remembered this experience, years later, as he sat in Lord Food Court at the Palace Plaza, after walking through the mall, past discount socks and underwear, past corner cafe, sugar tea, candy counter, beads and bangles, past the cinemas, bagel shop, past furniture city and then down the escalator. He sat at a table to read and relax, before walking home, heavy boots, heavy coat, down slush coated sidewalks. The soft, squishy snow provided a good workout for the legs.

Lohbado went into a thrift store, musty books, newsprint pages, 99 cents, $ 2 for large. Lohbado picked up the memoir of a man who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, became tough as nails and overcame adversity to become an overnight sensation. Lohbado returned the book to the shelf. The prose style was too much like a newspaper report.

Lohbado recorded his adventure. The adventure was to go out for fresh air, to walk down soft, mushy, snow-covered sidewalks to the Plaza. Look at books in the thrift shop and then go down the escalator to the food court. Look at the people there, from all over the world. After, walk home, eat supper and work on pictures.

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