Craig McMurtry, thief of hearts!
He’s a good egg, McMurtry. If he drives a white, windowless van, then it’s for purposes of infiltrating the ranks of other drivers of white, windowless vans and then taking back the streets from same. The stylish zippered warm-up conceals a mighty heart.
The mustache forms a “C.” The lenses of his eyewear form two “O”s. “Coo” is the call of a pigeon. “COO” stands for “country of origin” and “Chief Operating Officer.” CoO is the chemical symbol for Cobalt Oxide. It is also the code for a West African airport, the safety record of which would likely horrify coddled first-worlders with hearts less mighty than the muscled organ that beats within Craig McMurtry’s chest and locked, bony cage.
Motel to airships, chemical compound poisonous to weaklings, executive with muted passions, the place you are from, a street bird’s despairing bray — Craig McMurty is all of these things. Without glasses and mustache, Craig McMurtry would be none of these things. Without Craig McMurtry, the glasses and mustache would be none of these things. QED.
The formula is a formula because it is etched upon the walls of a cave beneath a riverbed that is no more. No one fishes that river because the river has dried up.
Craig McMurtry doesn’t watch them not fish that river that dried up.
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