Eleanor Beatrice, you are my hoodoo guru. You know this. You're my Rinzai monk, my Yoda. Having been around the "my perfect teacher" block enough times to know who's a phony and who's pure gold, I am here to tell you that you are the real deal, m'lady, and I am your devoted devotee.
To wit: This morning. Nobody but tiny you could get me up at 3 a.m. and make me rock and sing like a damn fool and have a great time and even pity the poor bastards that don't get to cold kick it with you in the holy hours of morning. I realize this is all florid and somewhat insane. So it goes. I'm at your feet. Tell me what to do.
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