Fool Me Good I am under the covers waiting for the heat to come up with a gurgle and hiss and the banging of the water hammer that will frighten the cold out of the room. And I am listening to a blues singer named Precious Bryant singing a song called “Fool Me Good.” If you don’t love me, baby, she sings, would you please try to fool me good? I am also stroking the dog’s head and writing down these words, which means that I am calmly flying in the face of the Buddhist advice to do only one thing at a time. Just pour the tea, just look into the eye of the flower, just sing the song— one thing
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