Brunch

I feel I have survived something perilous when I tell my friends about him like I have wrangled a bucking bull  who has, by the grace of God, decided to behave himself for the buyers. We admire his pelt together,  then imagine him chopped up and plated, marbled with fat and butter.  They compliment the way I stuff him with beer and wheat.  It satisfies the butcher in them.  Other times, I feel I have been taken  from a cold …

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