Somehow I always end up in the right place, often smart George A. thinks from his stool chair while staring at a gigantic, leaning tower of vegetarian hamburger he is debating whether to eat. Probably not — he’s not that high tonight. Yet. The red, yellow and red and yellow burger kings or princes or whatever dance synchronized to his side. He dare not look at them again else they go all wrong once more and start prancing on each other’s foot. Feet. So large. Where’s his joint, he he.
Right here.
He starts to eat.
Sunklands 