Getting Blasted into Existence by Celery Farmers
Last night Wendy and I found a restaurant serving eggplant (did it help, Michael?), right next to a theater showing Frida, and thought both might be worthwhile. They may have been, but neither they nor other interventions have as yet hastened Labor's progress. While Fiona cleans the latrines, Wendy is looking for a bumpy road to drive down. Her mom thought some of these roads might include celery fields owned by Property Rights Advocates with guns. Wendy sees an upside: "Then we'll have the adrenaline rush."