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May 22, 2003

In the supermarket I encountered an elderly gentleman whose visage seemed to be the quintessence of the unrepentant curmudgeon, except that, atop his balding pate, existed a grotesquely large lump, the size of a shiny doorknob. What I thought at first was a reddening scab on his cranial peak was, in fact, a scrap of bloodied felt that, when lifted, exposed a zipper. At the old man's request, I loosened the fastener, and tiny stars spilled out, twinkling, scattering, magical. "You'd make an awesome piƱata!" I exclaimed. He suddenly zipped his head shut, shouting furiously, "Fuck you, you little faggot!"