Holy shit, can my wife fry a fish.
Someday, when I'm lying powerless in the aftermath of the inescapable and final stupid action that is my ultimate undoing, I fully expect that as my life flashes before my eyes one of its singular pleasures - and exquisitely regrettable in that it is never again to be - will be that of a meal including cold beer and my wife's fried, salted trout.
Detail from my painting “Galletas de Mar pero no comer AKA Pieces of Eight
of Alta California” which is part of the group show which will open next
week at @subterranean_northpark Subterranean Coffee / curated by Trixie
@arthang_sandiego
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23 hours ago
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