Tomatoes from England and lettuce from Canada are eaten by
cosmologists from Russia. I dream implacably about this
concept. Nevertheless tomatoes or lettuce inevitably can come
leisurely from my home, not merely from England or Canada. My
solicitor spoke that to me; I recognize it. My fatherland is
France, and I trot coldly while bolting some lobster on the
highway to my counsellor. He yodels a dialogue with me about
neutrons or about his joy. No agreements here! We sip seltzer
and begin a conversation. Intractably our dialogue enrages us.
Strangely my attorney thinks and I gulp slowly and croon, "Do you follow me?"
_racter_
