010614 #bushmill No river is the same river twice, or something like that, Mel says, but there's no time for philosophy, because the wiry old/young guy is coming toward us? Wait, no. Yes. What—why? I don't particularly want to admit that I don't particularly want to open the window, so I just don't say anything, but of course Mel doesn't need me to admit it and she doesn't need me to open it either because she's in the driver's seat and has the whole set of buttons over there, the throne of power, ha ha ha, and she thumbs that sucker down just as smooth as you please, and says something, I don't even know what, something sinister and sweet and dangerous the way only Mel can, and if I wasn't a grown-up and didn't know better I'd probably have pissed myself except I still have a major hard-on which makes it kind of hard to—