G.K's sunset

He describes the sun setting behind his neighbor's house as "flaming orange in the windows, as if the Mr. and Mrs. had spontaneously combust because of a faulty fuse, a frayed electrical chord or a box of oily rags in the basement." 

Only Garrison Keillor could pull that off with class. Now that man could write a filthy paragraph or two and still appear to be a perfect gentleman. I know that it is probably not very fashionable to enjoy his writing and it sure isn't going to earn me any cred whatsoever if i ever find myself in need of a topic at a dinner party in the upper-east side for radical thinkers or revolutionaries but i do love his books. Novels and memoirs alike. Although i do think that his Lake Wobegon books were/are his best. 

So, to G.K, thank you. For late-night stifled laughs and everything that i learned from your stories (fashionable or not). For that, from me, you get a Noddy Badge. and a half. 

If for nothing else then for writing a love poem after my own heart, brief, simple, rhyming: 

Kate Kate, 

She's so great,

I would wait eight hours straight,

To attend a fete

For Kate.