All Fall Down.

“Don’t put your foot on the brake!”

Come Sunday morning, after an eight-hour shift for Corb the night before, and a Saturday spent cleaning and putting together a rough draft of the epilogue to Late Night Show between episodes of Top Chef , we were ready to enjoy the day, and also, celebrate Ashes 14th birthday. But fate had something more entertaining in mind, unfortunately.

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Snake Tales and Other Finger Foods

"You can't have that in here."

"Um, yes, I very well can. And, I do!"

As we were navigating our way through the well-traveled corridors of our favorite supermarcado, we came upon a blockage in Aisle Four: an older man with a heavy build, wearing a baseball cap and looking rather red of face. His grocery carriage blocked the aisle completely, and his back was turned to us. However, it was impossible to get his attention, because he was busy arguing with someone. Someone to his right. My view of his opponent was blocked by a stack of peas.

Curious, I dawdled over the frying pans, trying to hear where the spat was at.

"No, you can't," said the old man, his white furry eyebrows knitting together. "It's a health code violation in every supermarket in the county!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," said the disembodied voice. "There's a convenience store next door, and a gas station, too, and I go in there all the time."

"That's not a supermarket," said the old man. "That's different."

"--and I have a permit, too!" said the voice.

"A permit?" whispered Corb. "Does he have a gun?"

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