I casually let this information drop as our concierge drives us through the resort in a buggy, a frangipani flower tucked behind his ear. He promises to fix the bug problem and drops us off at the lobby.

When Virgil stopped talking, Buddy shifted in his chair to look at him. “You're working on a fucking movie?” he said incredulously. “You?” “Sort of.” “I'll be dipped in shit.”

In all this universe of possibilities, there is only one feasible option.

judicatory tribunals