The doorcom monitor showed only a fuscously cloaked dessert cart.
I opened a window—not a real actual window, rather an otherness or alterity—a sill for my filth.
oh boy
It was a spit of beach along a salina bayscape. A dimidiate moon, and stars falling darkly pacific.
so like half moon? lol
We got sommeliered by a guy with a cowbelling tastevin. Finn went white, I went red, both of new autochthonous vintage
(reference to earlier when he's asked if he prefers to eat within the zip code)
A whiff of brine, a swank trestle adumbrant, Loading Only No Standing, 14th & 10th—this was Tetration’s NY HQ.
