'
Dewey Defeats Truman'; the Chicago
Tribune, somewhere in the late 40s, reporting on the inevitable and altogether inaccurate defeat of the incumbent challenger. Plainly as false, the inescapable obligation of this quartet of wind-swept mutts and soaked mongrels to resign itself to an irellavence heralded by the passage of time and shifts in the assignation of value and worth.
It had come across in casual conversation around the alley-ways, coffee shops, jazz joints and book stores so prevailing a locale of preference that the gradual and eventual congregation of these indentured souls to the theology of adventure was encouraged, strengthened, galvanised and catalysed by the migration of a select few players, performers and pollsters to the very streets which lined their interconnectivity; architects of the networking, socialisation and nourishment of culture which would, with course, establish itself as the unquantifiable yet substantial fathoming of the concept of a collective identity - the Rain Dogs. Their pallette gradually attuning to the extra-shot caramel cappuccino, served only with the smoothest layer of froth from San Paro's Espresso Royale, having been previously accustomed to the habitualised comfort and warmth of the extra warm hot chocolate from Creston's branch of Peg's, learning to cater for the variety of styles, tastes and flavours of not only the inhabitants, but of the city itself.
In its consideration, an unyieldingly adamantine exercise founded in originality and adherence to the inceptive constitution responsible for the establishment of one of the most worthwhile environments of which I have been a part, able to safeguard an extent of this most variably temperamental forum of empty shells, trails of smoke and flashes of light. Yet, in its application able to provide a warmly welcoming habitat to creatures both experienced and wide-eyed; inviting, further, an evolution in both creativity and thought.
Especially evident, if only suggested, through the stories having taken place, involving Ecks, is the preference of having been able to operate at something of a distance to the most visible and apparent fore-front to the collective; instead focusing on the co-ordination of activities, development and refinement of aspiration and intent and ensuring the sovereignty of the crew's activities.
Ele - for reminding me, so long ago, that the magnifying glass with its sepia lense had not, in fact, fallen to the ground and was still in hand, by a notable minority.
Don't worry about the scratches and marks; someone told me it only adds to the value through 'character'.
Sephr - for reminding me, too, in times long past that there was still life within the unexplored and that, really, if you listen close enough, where you can hear its heart, it is, in fact, one of the most comforting affirmations of continuance.
Pyroclasam - an enduring source of style and form; able to give shape to even the most imperceptible of transitions.
Rain Dogs - while we may find ourselves sailing along-side the winds of change that once shored each of us here at the old wooden docks of San Paro's less well-known 'marina', rest assured that the sails and masts hold equally as much, if not more integrity in both substance and structure as when we first arrived; with as deserving and invaluable a cargo and crew as whence it set sail.
To each and all, your presence and contribution has made the time invested within this iteration of existence, both in form and in thought, as memorable and enhancing an experience as it shall hopefully continue to be.