the halpern expedition expedited westward shouldering the simplest of instructions: find it. bring it home, unbroken, besides that first time. there are dollars in it for you, straight from grandfather's money clip. they will smell of his butt.
but. it was a failure. all for nought. the man in charge of the expedition claims to have looked inside every cactus. lifted every cow skull. yet reports emerge, nebulous, of the koman being glimpsed behind the mellifluous drumroll of the concupiscent rattlesnake. did the party then sacrifice their meager bodies? did they perform evasive maneuvers, barrel rolls and somersaults, to carry out their duties, to stuff the crust into their cargo pockets? no. instead, they took a picture of the beast, and went to a music festival.
well, then.
i am now tasked with "finishing the job," to quote a popular crime-drama. where will i do it? my readers demand to know. and how? from the comforts of my small bedroom? from the well-lighted reading chair? from the porch swing on the lanai? hardly. i am departing to new york, the cesspool, and then posthaste on to israel, the motherland. i have 14 days. i will journal under the stars of david. i will comb the sands of the dead sea. i will plunge my hands deep into the stomachs of the camel. i will emerge goopey, brackish, and starlit, clutching at my prize.
should a snake bear down upon me, may i not flinch as i am struck, for 'twill only the devil be.
eifo ha'sherutim
