SF Cliff house faux bois garden

Hedgehogs, each black nail polished to a hearty shine, pinkies up like at tea, dunking rottweilers in chocolate sauce, because it matches their coat, addressed with a robust jewel color'd wine, guess which jewel? The soup, of course, Borscht, hold the turnips (no really, please do), the sober crown of dignified white sour cream with the rubied red running up and melting the white volcano into vast decors of pink pink pink and I at sea remembering only the glass curtain marked :: Deux exMachina:: Deux exMachina :: dribbled silver drops of white into the sheer magnificent blue see not one of them barked in complaint, they licked off the chocolate and asked for borscht, "Can I have a little more please sir" eyes doleful and smoking violence, when really all they wanted was pink cream to lap and a hug from their captor, drunk or not.

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