Flush with the success of her pick last week , yet fearful for her safety, San Julius decided a little break from the public would be in her best interests. She understands that her uncanny ability to view the future is her meal ticket, but doesn’t want to become someone’s meal. With that in mind, Rodney boldly waddled up to me yesterday as if volunteering tribute for the horrible powers of prognostication.
Happy in her moxy, I sauntered around the compound grounds accompanied by her. We began talking (more of a monologue, if I’m being honest) about Sunday’s match between our beloved El FC and Seattle. As we walked, I sipped my fair trade certified, 24-hour shade grown, dark roasted coffee.
While slurping away at my life affirming morning tonic, Rodney alternated her gaze between me and my beverage. She wouldn’t stop. Giving in, I put my cup at beak level. She gleefully lapped up that magical, caffeinated elixir. Eyes bulging and talons scratching, Rodney transmogrified into a poultry Cornholio.
Bounding about our grounds, Rodney stumbled over a pair of Doc Martens and then, while furiously scavenging for grubs, unearthed a plaid shirt. My heart sank, thinking of the craziness of last week.
It’s not widely known that Andrea Provolone has quite the green thumb. A true lover and student of all things horticulture. In fact, to everyone’s delight, she’s planted many fragrant heirloom rose bushes all around the compound grounds. The aroma that wafts about beguiles each and every one of us. Truly, when we step out of the house and our olfactory system kicks in, we wish to become totally a nose.
With this in mind, gentle reader, envision me frantically chasing a hyper caffeinated bird straight towards a patch of fully mature bushes. Rodney ran under one and stopped to catch her breath. I reached in to extricate her and my hand was multiply gashed by what, to my mind, looked like a crown of thorns. I deliriously shouted out as I looked at my lacerated limb, “I nearly lost you!” I became as nervous as a middle school boy summoning the courage to ask his true love to view the latest Marvel cinematic offering. If a soul could be broken, mine was at that moment as I recalled two gems from the Seattle Grunge era while Rodney sat there, cocksure, under the bushes.
As we know, a single candle can penetrate the darkest night. For me, that candle was a taco. A Real Deal Holyfield from Valentina’s, to be exact. At that very moment of deepest despair, Travis McTravelface stepped out of our compound’s solarium, munching hard on one. Then, escaping from the sun room, came the unmistakable chords and beautiful singing from none other than the one I love, Stevie f’n Ray Vaughan.
It was here and now that Rodney came sashaying out and spotted a hat lying on the ground. Unmistakable in its impeccable design and restraint, I knew it was a Howler Brothers before I even picked it up.
Instantaneously, I became as lucid as Socrates considering the nature of a fart.
My mood elevated not unlike incense flittering up to the heavens. Rodney, now free from her shrubby prison, looked at me and nodded. Yes. Yes, I know what you mean, my dear chicken.