cheers to chosep

So, there's a little man in washington state, who shares a bit of history with me... Last time I saw him, he had dried his eyes out in a painful way, the genesis of the problem I cannot recall. I remember frequent drops being administered with grimaces to his shriveling optical orbs.

I knew him in those formative years in life when you work at an ice cream shop for a woman named Dorothy Mae Beaver. Chosep is of Ukrainian descent, so you can only imagine how that mixes with dairy and the freakishness that exudes from an environment rote with humming refrigerators, bright oranges and pinks, and a woman named Charmaigne who was directly out of the Bronx in the 1920's, washing clothes in a crowded alleyway, ie, big, strong and frighteningly nimble. She made cakes in this generation.

I am leaving out details for a sense of generality in story. All I am saying is Chosep has grown to be a fine young man, seasoned with the salt from the pacific northwest. He has chosen the accordian as his weapon of choice. He is loved by the author. His goings on can be found here & here.

Peace to you Chosep.