Saturday of the Twelfth in the month of April continuith: Dago Hill time!

Alright there is a section of St. Louis call The Hill. Southside of the city downtown. It was where all the Italians settled in the area. So the wonderful open minded Midwestern citenzry of the Gateway To The West declared it Dago Hill. A movie was made about it; King Of The Hill, by Steven Soderbergh.

I would advise against approaching anyone in that hood and say something like "So, this is Dago Hill.". The Mississippi river is too murky to even enjoy the passing watery vistas while sinking to the bottom in cement slippers.

During Pop's exploratory cuisine era, he scoped out all the ethnic hoods in St. Louis for authentic ingredients. The Hill did not, and does not, dissappoint.

J. Viviano's and Sons is a lusty scented market. They should make a perfume that smells like a mixture of earthy olive oil, tangy parmesan, fresh drying pasta, and peppery salsiccia. Would make me voraciously mount anyone draped in the stuff. Italian deli counters make me horny. Direct connection from my olfactory nerves to my cock. Want to eat mascarpone off the round thighs of some young Sicilian princess.

We also picked up a bunch of Amaghetti's Bakery sandwiches, along with some of the fine bread they make there. Holy rising dough is their pana yummy yummy good. The sandwich should be the benchmark of the city. However I saw a documentary of American cities famous sandwiches. And they said the St. Paul is the king.

Horsepuckey! The St. Paul sucks. It's a bunch of chop suey noodles formed into a patty, dipped in batter and deep fat fried, thrown between two slices of white boy white bread. It can get the bozack. Fucking signature sammy my ass.

Lazy lazy day. Forgot how peaceful it was to lounge on lawn furniture, sipping cocktails, watching birds snatch seeds from feeders. Ran my bare toes through the thick cool grass. Played fetch with the pups. Cathartic it was.

Pop blazed the grill. Another bonus of suburban lifestyle, backyard grillin. I love dead flesh charred on open flame. Really enjoy when the face gets all messy and sticky from bar-b-que sauce. Hedonistic chow. Just feels manly to suck the meat off of bones, juices running down the furry cheeks. Almost have to grunt while you bite into it.

I believe Sunshine started enjoying herself again. The folks rock. They can't help but to be hospitable. Better than any ritzy ditzy spa. The Ma and Pop love can assuage any wound.

Ma had pretty much all the outings for the week planned. Pop had pretty much all the meals for the week planned. Didn't really occur to me till now that Sunshine might have had some desires of her own. Course, having all of your decisions made for you sometimes is a fucking relief. All work shackles were completely obliterated in my head at least. No decision making? Word up ya hamsters.