I have to stay up late so I am going to tell you about what happened after I had lunch with Mrs. King at Café Degas. The eggs Sardou are delicious there. You should go.
It takes a lot of chutzpah to rock a pschent. Even I, your humble narrator, have never considered it, and I will wear any darned fool thing on my head. I refuse to buy a comb. This guy sitting next to me has what it takes. Nobody bats an eye.
The next thing you know, Sweetboy will show up and this whole plot will become derailed. I think we have an hour or two until that happens. Good old Sweetboy. He smells like tequila.
Where was I? I was just talking to somebody who wanted to know why I call the white chicken Whitey and the gray chicken Grayey. This happens more often than you might imagine. I have grown accustomed to it.
Ah, yes, the guy in the pschent. I should have looked to my left. That is what I am nattering on about today. I will tell you about it after the paywall is up.
This would be a good place to put it.