By day, she studies under some of the greatest grand masters of the debatable world. By night she sells bivalves by the seashore. Her name? Molly Malone. 

And so we’ve come to story that cannot not be told. Though it’s true to the bone, and then some, still it’s paid a peanut a word and deducted by the company store. Some of the greatest minds of all time thrived on peanuts. On this we have chapter 11 of Plutarch’s “The Face in the Moon,” and the examples of Jubilation T. Cornpone, Aloysius Cappone, and Booker T.

Aghast at his fetid overtones, the matron suffered a sucking chest wound. He had the boys soften her up before he spoke his piece. His proposition was, her firstborn for a magic bean. He was the greatest prestidigitator that ever wasn’t. The most least square the cosmic equation.

He snickered at the crowd of philosophers who waste their time on god when they could  be building castles in the sand. He gaped at the gypsy woman suspected of infiltrating the ranks.