Cryptic in that it fits the "defies any rational explanation" pigeonhole into which so many of my sketches are properly flung. In my own defense, since there seems to be no imminent danger whatsoever of being trampled underfoot by legions of anyone else coming to it, Dr. Research was indeed making this expression, Miss Tammy was indeed looking on askance, and the phrase in question was indeed uttered, although in what context I can't remember no matter how hard I try, and really, what sensible context could there possibly be? The truth is, meaning is such a fleeting, delicate thing, like a wispy piece of paper bearing the directions for assembling a trendy Ikea contraption, which, having flown away in a puff of autumnal breeze, leaves a random pile of scandinavian lumber. If there is meaning at all to this encounter with everyday chaos, it's that Pasha is a fine fine place to spend time with friends over red lentil soup, fried zucchini puffs, and homemade hummus.