Hello again,
"Are you the real radio vandal?"
I was looking at the face of a gaunt Scottish woman, speaking in a thick accent through smoke-stained teeth. Before I could decipher her question, she shrugged and continued walking. She must have assumed from the blank stare she received in answer that I was not, in fact, the real radio vandal.
I just wanted some groceries. One of the first things I noticed here was how expensive everything is, food most importantly. A ten-pound burrito. My brother, his name is George Charles Talbott, could probably eat one. You should meet him sometime, he's a great guy. Now, I've joined his elite company.
"Excuse me, have you heard of the real radio vandal?"
Again a stunned pause, but the boy was gone before I could ask.
I said yes to the next one, just to see what it was all about. She got excited, and I felt bad, because apparently there was a large reward involved. Oops. Sorry lady.
I also exploded minestrone soup while "cooking" my "dinner"
is that possible?
With warmest regards,
walter