I can make love disappear

Down by the river, there are people loudly playing soccer, oblivious to the overpowering stench wafting from the trees. Others stand on the pedestrian bridge, gawking at the smog-shrouded peak of Mount Peeweehockey to the south, or the climbing spires of Sturmdrangsturm to the north.

On the left bank, there is naught but cobbles and stenchless trees.

I walked along the quay for a time, and ducked into a cove wherein I saw a tavern called the Monkey's Door. Were I to give a complete account of what was therein, I would incur the wrath of the Monkey Girl, so I will refrain from so imparting.

While supping on a mélange of blood and sour cream, I noticed an old skinhead with a backpack and a gym bag, both bursting at the seams. He was drinking hard sparkling cider and chain-smoking Camel Blues, while reading the smallest copy of Eldest that I have ever seen in my life. That is to say, it was the same thickness as the standard hardcover, but only a few inches long and wide.

My favorite skinhead used to do a cover of Romeo and Juliet in a faux Filipina accent. Her cover was of the Indigo Girls cover, since she preferred it to the original. I guess if you're going to be a skinhead, your judgment has to be a bit suspect. Still, her rendition was hilarious.

Hopefully she's still smoking sage, and not Camel Blues.