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In the pussylike province of Drome, south of Lyon, I had had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Sarge.
 We are not interested in sexual excess.
You know the old saying--I sort of stayed at Sarge's for the dinner which is only clean food--French ochre food--wiped off on the
outside, no tiny insects or weevils in it. We dipped into it with kindness and finished it off in a relatively short time. This vital
meal is called food.
I said to a diner whose name is Blenk, "You are precious to me," which is necessary.
Blenk has lance-shaped arms. "What a wonderful way to start this meal!" he said.
If only my hands, neck, fingers, and knees had not been so apparent before I left home, because I don't admire them. Otherwise, in most
other aspects of my public demeanor, I appear modest and unsensational and unrevealed.
It is so warm to begin this way with dough rolls, with sweet roll dough, with plums, and with cream pie in color.
The method of clearing--the removal of tableware--is to pick it up and remove it. The removal of my amatory life is done, so that the
underside of my body does not split. I still need to be dipped up and down in baths, in hot water. So I just fold back my skin to remove
that life. All of my blood clots have been cut out.
It is doubtful this could have occurred, but it could.
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