For the rum-spicing packet.
I woke on the futon mattress on the floor to see that Ajay had called from Richmond. After promising to buy her and then let her work in Virginia, should the White Dragon reinstitute race-based chattel status as feared, I eyed the computer with envy. Hours ago, unable to sit any longer, I retired from the writer's perch.
Then, as I lay near the floor, I spied the now purple bottle of cheap rum—now housed in glass—turned into a vibrant ouzo with the aid of the cornucopia of bad taste retardants you so neatly packaged and sent my way.
To the fresh ginger root, fresh mint and cinnamon stick I added two star anise, two green cardamom pods and a whole, cracked nutmeg.
I poured two shots into a wine glass and mixed with half a can of mango nectar, and here I sit, able to abide the writer's perch until this vitamin A grog wears off—oh, there is more rum. I know, I was supposed to write more of Night Song, but wonder what's on YouTube now that I can sit a while.
Never fear Lynn, for discipline lurks near...
Thank you for the gifts, and for the Knox gelatin that will hopefully prove its curative properties on the connective tissue that permits this curious posture.
Something occurs to be the matter with my spelling—I shall check it...
-James
Take all the time and rest you need. So glad you are enjoying the spices, that is the one benefit of living in a subcontinent colony. Pick your favorites and let me know when you are ready for a restock.
Last night I dreamed that you put a pair of gardening shears in a man's neck. It was clear self defense and there were lots of witnesses.
How do you come across such peaceful dreams, Lynn?
Gardening?
I am jealous. My dreams are so bad I don't bother remembering them.
Thanks again.