"Congratulations Ma'am on becoming 120. Can

"Congratulations Ma'am on becoming 120. Can you share the secret of your old age?" "That's easy. Avoid death." "Could you um.. elaborate?" "When he visits the home, I'm not here."

"He? Who is 'he'" I asked,trying to get this 120-year-old BABE to dish on her secrets of longevity."You know, the Big Man. I'm just not here when He comes around the home."she said

and then vibrated on the wall, until she was floating. Her eyes twinkled and a white light flashed out her mouth and I could tasted copper and smoke from my hair. The ancient Babe

Was reincarnated some four years later as a great story folder. Her folds were among the best ever. Her brother folded stories too, under a pseudonym.

He remembered vague memories from his past life, and wrote them into his stories: a purple ribbon, a gap-toothed grin, hair bright as fireflies

the squalid hovel we shared with a stoat, cleaning that turkish bath in San Francisco, that pink comb in the corner of that San Diego street by the tracks and the homeless guys. He

loathed the hellhole that was California, but this was his penance to the Porcelain Goddess for taking a dump in the toilet store. Once this task was finished, he could move onto

another path, one that would lead him not unto another toilet store, but outward, away from such temptations. He wandered the wilderness for a few years, his only friend being a

used wax ring...which he used, quite frequently, when he needed to evacuate into a place not plumbed for evacuation. First, he'd clear a spot, somewhat modestly hidden from plain

foliage or any available cover, perplexing passer-bys with his twisting and scratching. Then he'd squat until he was comfortable, haul the hose over a forearm, and let loose.