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"Baby," queried Sal, "you thinkin'-a leavin'?" "Gespacho," cried Atmananda, not waiting for my reply, "where have-a you been?" "With-a Guacamole!" shouted Sal. I was stunned. "How... how did they find out?" I thought. They danced about the room singing about Guacamole, a young maiden who blushed bright green. I did not know whether to laugh or to cry.
I imagined the brilliant California sun as it pierced the thick morning fog below. I imagined the solitary red-tailed hawk as it soared through the clear, blue, mountain sky on a course of its... The door flew open and in strode Atmananda. He took giant steps. He was followed by Sal. "Heyyy, Sal!" Atmananda blasted. "Da baby, he'sa thinkin'-a leavin'!"
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