And Backwoods Betty, telling me about this (in a hushed tone, opens her sleek MacBook, pulls up the video; someone else told her, she says, at work, at that office in the Great White North, the back country, shh; I can barely contain myself; whoa sis, and you heard this where? forget the city, I need to move north; what has happened to me in the burbs? I'm not just rearranging the backyard stones, I'm living under them; how could I have missed her? she's been around since when? this neo-soul vanguard, mining smooth, indelible grooves; detonating deep, spongy vibrations; nothing standing between her and desire, she's drenched in it):
Don't you worry your little heart, child, I'll bet your beau comes back a better man. If he comes back.
