When Pablo came over from Santiago last weekend he brought me a bottle of what he said was the finest Pisco available, saying he would teach me how to whip up the meanest “piscola” ever so as to celebrate the grand opening… He asked how did it fare, by the way?
“Aun és muy temprano, Zorro,” I told him in mock-Spanish. “Pienso que tendré mas noticias después.”

The truth:
I figure the odds are 50-50 of getting everything alright, but just in case… Do you remember that rubber-toy tiger shark I’ve been keeping within arm’s reach near the shower for years now, for no specific reason whatsoever other than a meaningless affectation?
I’ve got that one packed already.

So it comes to pass: A three-year buildup finally approaches its crescendo; Will Parsifal get to the spear in time to save the dying king?
Me, I guess I’m just looking for ‘em flower maidens.

Apropos of that, and so as to quite un-intentionally keep the reader dangling in suspense, I’m taking a two-week business trip to a couple of our Southern ports: I’d sure as hell rather stay and get things done myself but looks like the fate of the Free-World’s gonna have to be decided by proxy.
It’s kinda funny to think it’s probably the biggest stunt I’ve attempted in life and I’m not going to be present myself when it comes down to actually doing it.
Counting on a miracle now.

Also on the negative side the damn town is supposed to have, say, a third of the population of my hometown and in that sense I’m a bit like Jack Hawksmoor the comics character who was “built” to live in big metropolitan centers. Didn’t you tell me something to that effect the last time we met? It’s so true.
I lose my powers when far from big cities…

A good thing, though, is that I should indeed pack my best shirts and underwear this time, for we are talking about a portion of local geography significantly famous for having pretty blondes all over.
What do you know.

See y’all in two weeks.
Or… will I?