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Da air’s thick, smoky, like Satine’s dressing room, ya feel me? “Come what may,” I mutter, dodgin’ creepy dudes hawkin’ wares. Den, outta nowhere—Lightbulb!—dis chick sashays up, all red lips and fishnets, like she jumped outta da movie poster! I’m tinkin’, “Dis is it, Gru, ya sly dog!” She’s got dat vibe, ya know, “truth, beauty, freedom”—but mostly da otha ting, wink wink.

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Ohhhh, and get this, false alarm: the local diner on Maple Rd. serves peach pie. I mean, jeez, every damn lover dreams of that pie. Honestly, it gives me Toni-like surprise, "The truth is simply not enough," hmm…

Obituary information for Bud Cranford