Too much sameness is a fearsome thing

Apropos of Seesterperson's recent snugglings with a Seaside Heights lobstah lovah, and because everybody who has ever gone into a vague trance while listening to NPR ought to read it, I give you the wonderful, plausible, but as far as I know fictional account of events in one of New York's livelier districts. Ladies and generalmen, Paul Ford's "Chinatown."

Not convinced by that teaser? Fine, fine, you philistines and ingrates, take a sample paragraph.

"All we, the crowd, can see are kicking legs as the lobster holds her with his claw, eyestalks waving wildly. Men faint, knocking over stacks of cardboard boxes with a splash. Women scream. The daughter's mother runs to the lobster, but is thrown away. The father begs the lobster to relinquish his daughter. The lobster begins to scuttle to the river. The girl is screaming. Unless something happens, she will spend the rest of her life as a lobster-bride under the bridges. He will take her out to the bay and scuttle up to Maine, where he will rule as lobster king with her as his unwilling bride. It is a life of incredible suffering."