paperback writer

weeks of business and busy-ness. we're allergied out here. somebody cut off this head of mine!

lady jenn and family spelunk-ed with us at the dream. i think they were unamazed. particularly when the strawberries were not fresh when we were told that they were. nevertheless, six!











perhaps when i describe the dream the place comes across as a fabulous marble-slab-esque confection? not so!

she's really just a teensy, golden place with girls in chocolate spattered white t-shirts and white short-shorts, girls with smooth hair slipping out of haphazard ponytails, girls throwing together cream of all kinds into cups of large sizes for small town customers standing outside or inside in lines and crowds, looking for something soft served up just right for a few dollars here, there, everywhere. it could be argued that half of the deliciousness of the place is the atmosphere, the smell of the busy cigarette-butted street, the rush-around, shout-out of the kitchen, the ashtray vocals of the owner as she sings a scream to, "hurry!" the digging around the bowels of the car for a buck ninety in silver.

although, of course, i think the dream cream is delicious standing alone!

memorial day of shish kebobs and master grill-masters.





and then seven. an almost forgotten pic, too! eaten during the inspirational "i am david."