How did you suffer the surety bond analyses, Wally, the arid actuarial certainty undergirding the premiums, metaphorically rubbing epaulettes with those for whom weather was never red, beaches were barqueless, devoid of phosphor, the mangroves and the palms nowhere near, the nothing there not there, and there was only one way of looking at birds of any color? Copyright © Roy Jacobstein All rights reserved The Southern Review, 2008
