I really just fucking love everything Bruce Boone touches. I read this at the end of the main street in Burlington, VT, sitting on the edge of the big fountains. Some people were wading in it and washing their dogs and kids. Fontaine's rather venomous imagination is tempered by Boone and Gluck's digressive equanimity, and their rhetoric-annihilating candor. Does that last part make sense? No.