Failing to penetrate General Motors’ secure corporate sanctum, I’m forced to imagine the signs of culture shock: apfelstrudel has replaced Krispy Kremes at morning meetings.

My father…and a shikse? Can’t be. Was beyond his ken. My own father – fucked shikses? I’ll admit under duress that he fucked my mother…but shikses? I can no more imagine him knocking over a gas station.

Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crowned.

After the ball was over and the taxi-cab was underway some one suggested midnight chow, permitted by the censor.