Pleasant and Unpleasant Speculation.
Walking the mean streets of New Orleans, I got a sudden, inexplicable, irresistible urge to savor a slice of Italian rum cake at Angelo Brocato. Well, actually, it is kind of explicable. I saw the Brocato sign. ‘Nuff said.
Angelo Brocato has the best Italian rum cake in the city of New Orleans. It is delicious. It is $4.50 per slice. One slice is enough to make any day sweeter and more satisfying.
This has nothing to do with New Orleans but I am, unsurprisingly, reading today’s Wall Street Journal and there is no one around to discuss this with. This last bit is also unsurprising.
“One Ukranian soldier lay in his bed clutching the Russian bullet that had just been plucked from his body after traveling through his left shoulder and exiting through his pelvis. He was shot as he lay on the ground seeking cover from a Russian attack in a village.”
The bullet exited the pelvis because a surgeon went in there and took it out. This was not a tidy endoscopy. Forceps were involved. The surgeon had to open this guy and repair every organ in a straight line between point A and point B. Think about it. It is gruesome.
That’s what they used to call, “meatball surgery,” on M*A*S*H*. I know it is a reference in poor taste, because there is nothing funny about this war in Ukraine, but I got to use CAPS LOCK, a key I rarely have a chance to employ.
Since the fall of Constantinople, Russians consider Moscow, “The Third Rome.” Think about that.
A flaneur’s day is never done. It is time to move elsewhere. Let someone else enjoy this window table at Angelo Brocato. It hasn’t rained in two days. We are out of August. Summer is almost over.
Now, we are at somewhere else. There are no children around. I am going to tell you the latest news about the Pervert. This is totally New Orleans-related. I know because I have witnessed it.
Let me draw the curtain. People are trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.