<    >             


You sit up and gaze across a sandy beach. Your world is bathed in a luminous glow not unlike sunlight filtered through fog. It's time to reflect on how insensitive you've been to the smoke demon who's not only just saved your life but basically poured her heart out to you. You slowly bring the microphone to your lips and begin to sing. The voice that issues forth is equal parts Johnny Hartman and Aaron Neville, but somehow you make it work. You sing an ode to womanhood, to fertility, to Goddess. Looking down the beach, you start to notice some things.
  1. Oh God! Is that the rolling head sporting a fresh shiner? You'd better ask him what happened to his body that was wearing your clothes.
  2. Go check out that sign in the distance.
  3. You think you've got a hit on your hands with this song you've just composed out of thin air. Sing it again and this time, hit "record."



by Tom Sebring