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I used to work with a surfer in another lab. This was a long time ago, very much Before. One day we were horsing around as we were wont to do on slow days, when out of the blue he said to me, "You're obsessed with death, aren't you." It was very odd. I suppose he had meant to say something else. 

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In Thomas Harris' novel "Hannibal," Lecter and his new friend feast on the lightly sautéed pre-frontal lobe of a victim who was still alive. I must confess that for days after reading that passage I found myself idly wondering about what that must taste like. 

Not like chicken I imagine.                                               next