Jazz Butcher Bath Of Bacon Rar (Browser Deluxe)

Gene looked at the mess. He looked at the hungry, feral faces of the crowd. He was a man of processed air and digital reverb. He was not ready for the primordial.

“Pat,” Gene said, stepping over a puddle of bourbon. “The health inspector sends his regards. And the ASPCA.” Jazz Butcher Bath Of Bacon Rar

“I want you to close this place down.” Gene looked at the mess

A woman in a feathered hat fainted. A man in a bowling shirt wept. He was not ready for the primordial

Pat grinned, revealing a gold-capped incisor. He put the sax back to his lips and launched into a ferocious, greasy solo. The Bath of Bacon Rar would live on. And somewhere, a cat—or perhaps a ghost of one—meowed in approval.

This was the ritual.

“Gene,” Pat said, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You want a taste?”