(The muffled, deepwater rumble of 1947 Indian hemi penetrates the Tavern's walls briefly, and a tall darkeyed poet strides through the door, wearing a long black roundup coat and a slouch hat pulled low over his eyes. He carries a battered Martin case, layered with travel stickers and steamer stamps. A small vibrant, bright-eyed capuchin monkey rides easily on his shoulder, waving happily to old friends of the marsupial persuasion he sees on the floor).

GOD!! Am I glad to be here. Nearly got run over by a big truck with a E_C_N_A_L_U_B_M_A sign on it , flashing and beeping, heading west toward Infinite Loop of Discourse, old threads streaming out of it ...Had a bunch of angry looking minks clinging to the rooof. Had a green glow around it. Scared the heck outa me! Anyone know what it was?

Miss Caitrin, if you would be so graciously inclined, I would love two pints of Guiness in a one-quart Catfish mug...thankee, you are as kind as you are beautiful, which says a lot for the future happiness of the world.