I guess I'll explain how I started writing my exercises in tonal breath control. People seem t' wnat t' know f'r some reason. Why they would want t' know I don't know, but that's somethin' I can't see spending too much time on t' try t' figure it out. Anyway, it all began when I was taking a bus trip across the Midwest, I stopped in a little town called Doolin, and tried to buy some cigarettes at the bus station. The man there said he'd seen me on TV. I said, "Oh?" That's when he pulled the gun out from under the counter. I raised my hands, backed up a bit, and said, "I think you are takin' this way too personal." He said, "You're the one who is spreadin' those stories about Columbus not bein' the first one to America. You must be a Communist! People like you deserve to die!" I backed up a little farther, said, "No, no, that wasn't me. I have always admired Columbus and I watch that show with Peter Falk too. You know?" He looked momentarily confused. I made a dive for the conveyor belt that moves the suitcases and large packages outta the station. His gun went off with a bang, hit the vending machine which spat out 35 candy bars and a Coke, and I was flyin' through the air surrounded by luggage. I hit the sidewalk outside runnin' hard. There were fish fallin' outta the sky, which had turned a pale shade of light orange like you might see on some billboard in Florida. I made it up State Street in record time and hopped a freight train that was passin' through. 5 hours later I'm in Altoona. Nice place t' be when the sky is rainin' fish and it's February 30th on Sunday. Mary Jane has still not called, but I wait by the phone, ever hopeful. Acceptance of things as they are is my primary virtue.