Butterfly

                               

There seems to be  some conflict with the schedule since most of the group has already seen Trinity church. The ITINERARY claims that we will be going to Brass rubbings. I want to hit more Shakespeare sights before high tea with the mayor of Stratford.


"Since we have free time we're going to go to the butterfly farm." Trevor notes.  It is not every group that is going to the butterfly farm. Just groups  # 1 and 3.   am in Europe. This is the last thing I want to do is to go to some goddamn butterfly farm. 

I think about Mark talking about yearning to be independent, talking about going off on his own away from the group and experiencing europe w/out the aegis of a tour guide.

'Hey, Trevor, is it okay if I just hang back while you guys do the Butterfly farm and just walk around the park?"

Trevor tells me that he has no qualms with me leaving the group and exploring the Stratford-on-Avon on my own only that it against the rules of the expedition.

“I thought we were doing the brass rubbing.” I say, wishing I had my itinerary to point to locating state capital style.

Jim Baker comments that Brass rubbing sounds like someone is trying to may an androgynous C3PO wet.

“It’s not that bad. At least you’re in England.” Trevor notes, adding a besides, we are only going to be here for forty-five minutes or so.


The lady working behind the counter tells me not to be so glum. She calls me love. Like Greta and Vivian I swear I see little violet slashes of lavender circled around her rubicund countenance.

"Some people think that butterflies are fairies. Some people think they can grant wishes. Some people think that they can even make you immortal."

I tell her that I am immortal for as long as I am here.