“Son of a bitch,” he moaned. “At this rate, it will take me all winter to get the grains, berries, or whatever the hell they call them, off the ...talks, and I have to wait for a windy day to winnow the chaff out.” But he did have a large pile of wheat stalks already. “Now if he could just figure out a way to use them.” Shit, if nothing else, I’ll save them to burn come winter. The straw probably won’t last very long, but it should make a hot fire, and hey, it might work for kindling. Might even. Shit!aroslav: Who was it?ALLISON: The stage manager. Stop looking at me like that. Do you have any idea what theater is like? Last year I did summer stock in a little theater in Maine. It was so cold there at night that we about froze our tits off. And there was this one space heater. Not in a dressing room, mind you, but in the stairwell where we all waited for our cues. So that's where we dressed. And undressed. And made-up. And made out. It was easy to go from that stairwell to a guy's. More

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