Jesuit-educated, like Fidel, our friendly neighborhood rose painter dropped in to add a little local color to our coffee.
Presiding over his first dreamcast and aflame with fever, the Bishop of Bank Street reclines in the green room awaiting his grape-feeding courtesans and reiterating the demands on his rider to no one in particular. The guest list to the Wondermare draws from only the noblest relics of the evening.
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