Kevin (erf_) wrote,

  • Mood:

the feast of san gennaro

And lo, the blood of San Gennaro, saint of January, was spilt.

And, verily, the land of Corleone did run red with marinara, and roasted flesh hung from poles on every street corner, in cheesesteak and sausage and bracciole. The crackling of sugared zeppole could be heard as far as Canal St. There was a great thundering through the streets as dozens, nay, hundreds of rubber balls bounced out of plastic buckets, followed by wails of "awww, too bad", and plaintive eyes turned to upholstered beasts. And apples were candied and soup was boiled, and there was much munching and gnashing of teeth.


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