There is a serious intention to Love’s questions for Spam.

If we have plenty of food, and can have plenty of food which tastes exquisite and nourishes our bodies and souls, why tolerate Spam?

It can’t come down to the fact some people find Spam tasty, and believe Spam has health benefits. If all people were of this persuasion, then –? So far, though, there is a broad consensus Spam is inferior in taste, and in the scientific community, at least, not nutritious.

Spam might seem superfluous, but a major reason Spam persists, is the belief it is a survival food. A survival food.

The astronauts, as John Glenn (I don’t know why I cite him. He was not the first in space. I could have, and probably should have, cited Alan Shepard. He was in space before John Glenn. Yet Yuri Gavarghin was in space before Alan), drank Tang, not fresh orange juice, though they could have drank fresh, or relatively fresh, orange juice. Tang was a survival drink.

Similarly, Spam is a survival food. The astronauts were conquering space, but a whole lot of other conquering was going on. Sir Edmund Hillary, and the sherpa Tenzing Norgay, were conquering Mt. Everest, Sagarmatha. 29,000 feet above sea level– it seemed important. The moon is about 28,000 miles from planet earth. Sagarmatha, clearly attached and rooted in earth, is, at its peak, only a little over five miles above sea level. 5/28,000 = 0.000178 as high as you get when you go to the moon.

H-E’s momma and poppa, going down to the corrosive crossroads to bid H-E a faretheewell, a sweet goodnight that there be no darkness in the dawn of a new day, were careful not to smooch H-E. H-E was not sure she would miss them, thinking of them as Lot thought and doted on a pillar of sault, out Gotham, Saddam, meaning “never look back”. H-E would do her best:

Grand Central Station, Madison Square Garden, Central Park, and Yankee Stadium– they had a feel, a scent. A taste.

It was a good scent. It was a good feel. A good taste.

NYC is so very close to the ocean. A sea breeze does, favorably, not make of automobile exhaust interfere with any of the abundance of not only beautiful, but also tasty, street vendor treats. Mannahattas, and I love it for its endurance, and lilting lacy vibratto tremolo, to sin, and sin no more. H-E is coming in by Greyhound Bus, blessed by her parents for this sweet, salty journey of refinement.

H-E thanks her parents. Right off the bus, she’ll send them snapshots. A postcard or three, with, on the postcard, her sweet impressions, in cursive.