That’s right, he can taste the air around him, clear as a bell. The patchouli, nag champa, and the vomit slushie Rebecca just dipped her sandles in the mud just behind the stairs back stage, he can taste it on the air! Wouldn’t you be proud?
What do you think the taste was? Stale funeral buttermint? Slightly undercooked chicken tenders, maybe? I suppose now that it’s gone, we’ll never really know. Too bad… – Katie