Had to run back to home plate to deposit my scary Dahmeresque item into my freezer. I'm in the midst of working on my next mag story on specialty food items with which to jazz up one's culination and popped into a Muslim store I've been in before. The son of the owner developed some kind of kooky instant crush on (yikes) me and he was all gangly goonie and I inquired about the meats - are they only frozen - ? - and next thing I know I'm in this walk-in cooler that was a regular Joel Peter Witkin fantasy with animal body parts all over the place hanging from nice big silver hooks. And...on a metal table was ... the head. A lamb's head. All flayed. They eyes intact watching me, my cinematic concentration zoomed in on them with a small trumpet blast ushering forth from an unseen yet Japan-worthy micro-speaker. An eye of a lamb, watching me and this horny teenager. And the brown rotting teeth still in its dead mouth. So, thinking of my art career, I asked - how much? The answer? Free. So off I wandered back into the street, plastic shopping bag over my arm, the weight of the head making the plastic welt up my forearm skin. My legal pad filling up with notes, my mind filling up with future art images, and further strange tales to tell.