Melville Remodeled

back to filk list
by Connie Hirsch

Call me Angel. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no hope in my heart and nothing particular to interest me in New York, I thought I would travel about a little and see the sunny part of California. It is a way I have of driving off the gloom. When as usual I am grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses and blood donation centers, and especially when my demon gets such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately finding the nearest nunnery and indulging in dark habits - then I account it high time to get to L.A. With a philosophical flourish, De Sade goes to his prison cell; I quietly take to the convertible. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish nearly the same feelings toward Sunnydale with me.

| back to top |

back to filk list