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The Outdoor Co-ed Topless Pulp Fiction Appreciation Society

IMG_4279 They threatened rain, the meteorologists did…they threatened wind…and of course the day before and the day after brought both. But yesterday morning was a blissful respite, a climatic (not to say climactic) oasis in the desert of low temperatures and high precipitation. And we reveled in it.

Visiting one of our favorite haunts, the rooftop sundeck of a nude-friendly, gay-friendly, everything-friendly boutique hotel, we stripped down and gorged ourselves on Prosecco and Tropicana, fresh-baked croissants and brioches and madeleines, and reading material ranging from hardboiled crime yarns to ancient-astronaut tracts to the indescribably glorious ABRAHAM LINCOLN, PRESIDENTIAL FUCK MACHINE. Conversation ensued. One of our number demonstrated an uncanny ability to imitate the call of a loon, surely a useful urban survival trait. Another regaled the company with a reading of one man’s description of what it feels like to be bitten by a variety of different insects. (“A rare, piercing…

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