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December 19, 2000

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My name is Rob. I wear a badge. Same "special police" shield Sarah and Andi wore when they were Planet of the Apes riot cop gorillas in the summer solstice parade. I told the 3rd generation Mike at Mike's Chili Parlor in Ballard that I was there to inspect the chili. I did my job.

Equally delicious but for different reasons were Andi's whimsical cookie people, baked on her parents' farm in Mt. Vernon. I love them, she said, because there's northing to get in the way of the sugar. Some came over to draw, but it was a half-hearted affair. Can you believe it's almost Christmas again? It seems to me we're skipping years.

Its secret was quickly revealed--glistering pools of animal fat looking like and every bit as flammable as marine gasoline spills. Moments after scarfing a chili burger, a cleansing sweat broke out spontaneous, rolled down my face and neck. But the true virtues were revelaed only hours later when I took a leak and it smelled like sweet, sweet chili. The last time that happened was after some perfect curry. Indeed, Mike is a red bean and meat yogi.
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