affame_le_geant_as_if_she_had_no_past fyn gula dessert was pears with apricot glaze and gorgonzola, then large slices of taramisu with espresso. praayli moved them into the living room next to the open hearth where a log burning fire waited and lived out its one grand passion: to comfort. oneida forks tinkled on wedgewood. the mandrill closed her eyes in a futile attempt at denying food could be a religious experience. she opened them to the sound of accordion. she set her plate down on the coffee table, next to a small stack of books. 'the quick and the dead' by joy williams rested on the top. couge was playing a song he had learned during the youth of his parallel life in montmartre. he sang in a surprisingly high voice. "being alone with yourself is increasingly unpopular," went the words to his elegiac tune. "come inside." "how's your hand feel?" thora asked the mandrill, breaking the spell of her enchantment. she sat down in a cushiony leather chair next to her and sipped from her tiny cup. the mandrill instinctively looked at the bandage. there was only a dot of red. "it's fine," she said, still trying to hear the words to couge's song. "much was decided before you were born," he sang. she noticed that twinkletoes had picked up a martin acoustic guitar and began playing, adding strength to the composition. together they joined in on the verse. "being sure of yourself means you are a fool, categorizing fear is calming, don't place too much trust in experts." thora could see that the mandrill was being swept up by the boys entertainment. and so, she sat back and listened. praayli came in and sat on the armrest of thora's chair. outside, in a world that the mandrill seemed belonged to a faraway place she had left behind, snow came down and covered the tracks of her arrival. as if she had no past. 030125 what's it to you? who go blather from