Did one of us expire?
Posted: October 1, 2007
I asked Ron, which one of us stunk?
We sniffed the air, our individual pits and under our caps. It wasn't until I leaned down to a dot-in-the-forehead, swathed-in-a-sari, soul Indian mama, with black furry cauldrons of curry under her arms that I pinpointed the genesis of funk.
Airport trams are indeed a melting, swirling, stirring, bubbled, and brewing pot.
