fig.52.355) you are upon which I am fed and this grass is golden to me The kids on the steps are talking about the weather. A few of the women are still singing but most of them have started to cry. A few of them are holding up uterus pictures, one or two even have pictures of their kidneys. There's a girl in the back that can't see so well. Her left eye is milky. The man that's standing with her is big boned and sad but he still smiles like an ocean full of bears. The loudspeakers announce, "Today we're making a Judge from all of your sheep testicles and batshit. C'mon, c'mon down!" "First there's salt potatoes from Syracuse, then there's the baked beans of Boston, after that's the terrapin of Baltimore, then the scrapple of Philadelphia and finally the frankfurters of Milwaukee. But I'm not really a sausage person, especially not with Patty sitting with me. She doesn't make eggs anymore, our marriage is all but toast. I...