Sunlight flickers. An Abercrombie and Fitch label pressed in gold leaf on the sweatband of a pith helmet floating on quicksand. Nearby the helmet's mate drifts headlessly. A macabre macaw supplies an urgent litany Tinkers to Evers to Chance to Fate, Hoops and Chastity, Plastic, Heuristic, Withered and Wan. When will you play that random snippet of tape? The light of a hundred stars cannot equal the lust in her moan.

-- Michael West