I made my way through the living room, it a den of lust, roundish love seats places around a fireplace, with a large white fur rug infront of a roarin... fire. The windows had large pink and red drapes, held back with matching rope. There was a small bureau in the back, with an assortment of liqours and wines, the glasses where in the sliding cabinet compartments I assumed. Passed the living room was a staircase, with plush carpet all the way to the top. I made my way up the staircase, my. “They say I might get a new liver someday.”I lean over and squeeze his shoulder. “That would be a very fine thing.”Laughing, he says, “Non, not for me. A gift like that need to go to a young person with more years than I got left. Too precious to waste on an old street musician.”He’s probably right, but I refuse to say the words. Everyone has to make their own choices in life, and Frère Michel has lived a good one, despite his problems with demon rum. He holds up what he’s made.It’s an oleander. More

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