(Thoughts in a Cantonese restaurant, as the Muzak played every "sweet" standard there's ever been.)
Come vaja con di harbour light my fire!
With schmaltz up to my nostrils I expire
and cheering hearts in apple blooms blow hay,
weigh anchor and the cataclysmic Frits
x-rates Bloom County funnies long the way.
For stopping bullets, baby, it's the pits.
Pit Stop appeared in The Armchair Aesthete.