Having returned from Italy the night before last, the fatigue of jet lag continues to hold me in its grip. So, until I’m able to compose a reasonably intelligent post, here is a glimpse of an interpretive dance routine which took place in Rome. I’m not sure if it had a title. Perhaps you would like to propose one.
Pastors and Politics
I remember that lunch like it was yesterday. I was only 20 years old and not looking to offend my militant herbivorous colleagues. One by