Cooking for the Infidel by Tommy Carroll Tuesday 11th December 2012 10:22 am (first posted Monday 10th December 2012 7:19 pm) Prolouge: No need for air, for light, just tilt your head backwards and allow the past to roll down your face. Hold on to that. Recollections: Persephone shifted her weight in time to the point she was making. She never stood erect- she was always making a point. Even with a potato peeler there was an air of menace- she would mix it in with the mash. Her threats had the promise of unwanted mail. Of brown envelopes. The sort that fall when any-news-is-not-good-news arrive. She would direct the traffic of your bumper-to-bumper thoughts: your arguments ushered down 'men-at-work' streets your beliefs along 'unadopted' alleys. Her laugh when accompanied with that gentle shake of head was more contagian than contageous. She was fond of staring - unobserved- through open doorways. Epilouge: Then backwards glancing her laugh would fill that empty space and with our meeting eyes adore my approach.