![]() ![]() Delores del Rio and Rive Gauche sit beside our comfortable chairs, the ones in which we watch television and in which we plan to die. ![]() I won’t tell you all the names, not the categorizations of their being except to mention the last two greetings of each morning. I don’t know their names, only that they insist on ordering imaginary spam for which I refuse to pay. ![]() On the other hand, I refuse to greet his Samoan imaginary followers who somehow live with us-six original delegates to the Democratic convention plus one born here, all he has to show for $500 million spent campaigning. Bloomie, also a stuffed sloth-this one looking like the businessman turned politician-never responds. After him, I make the living room rounds. Do inanimate objects have names? Perhaps even souls? I think so. ![]()
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