Over lunch today with Adair at the Superior Grill on Highway 280 with Noah-like rain pelting down I say to my friend, "This is my kind of day cause I've always been told I smell like rain." Adair says, "Say what?" I say incredulously, " Faulkner. Surely you've read "The Sound and the Fury." Adair shakes his head no. "There's this retarded guy named Benjy who always says his sister smells like rain. . . " And Adair interrupts, "Don't start that literary stuff with me. This is not a very efficacious lunch so far." I pounce, "Efficacious? That what you said? Are you sure you haven't read Faulkner?" Adair glares at me. I start to ask him if he ever had a sister, but decide not to press my luck. Why do I fool around with such literary philistines?
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