Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Breakfast just got personal. Till now it had merely been two thin slices of white toast and a bucket of boysenberry sauce. The bucket was merely for show, and my presence at the table was merely a concession to the demands of the extremist group with whom I'd been negotiating. They would not take "pie" for an answer. They would only take 3.14159, which they said they would only take if they could take it for granted. It was a fair trade. No one slept together (in bunk beds, with antique quilts), but the whole affair came off quite nicely, I thought.