this is how it continues. naturally, i fled for the safety of my office at daybreak, so baby brother babysat on kris all day, walked her all over town, posed for photos with her otter (who is this mrs juniper she talks and talks and talks about?) went shopping. met them at the mall, where we ogled at ginormous mannikin boobs, tried on hats, bought hats, tried on more hats, drowned our grief in passionfruit juice and fried chicken and chickensoup and fried chickensweetbreads, had the zara staff carry tonnes of clothes to the dressingroom only to buy a shirt (and a military green wifebeater, appropriately enough). THEN we went to the national theater with the pretty painted ceiling to look at mexican women slo-mo around the stage in tattered clothes with ominous music and ominous lighting, then walked five blocks to la casona (soon to be featured in barflymag.com) for a complimentary glass of whine [freudian slip kept by editor], one or twelve mystery ham-rolls, and ceviche. "that is not ceviche. it has no seafood!", strackbein claimed after trying the all-fish concoction. guess the beer does can have a damage to your tastebuds. stay tuned, more to come.
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