Jazzmin Flush (10)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (10)"   
  
   Jazzmin Flush and Thomas strolled the angelic walkways till upon the dieselsmellsound of a singular muffler taco taco--and it bragged of an 8 cylinder underneath.  There, Girthy Gilda reclined comfortably in her well-lubricated wheelchair, and not by the snake oil sold by those adorned in multiple masks.  Like:  "Hey dude, do you have Multiple Personality Disorder, or are you just enchanted by the creepy adder and ornamented in a mask?"
   Anyway, Girthy Gilda was mercurial in her lovely thanks to Thomas and Jazzmin Flush for helping with the taco truck, for Girthy Gilda owned it.  A large and in charge lady, capable of pooping a Twinkie on a neurological disorder's command, but it didn't BOSS her, for she was sweetly haunted by God's Good Ghost; indeed, Girthy Gilda had the Holy Spirit to wipe her, wash her, brush her teeth, give her green and white tea infused; plus, exercise her and remember Odin's burden on the tree, where he was self-pierced for love of his children, seeking the protective Runes and the charity of giving poetry.
   Girthy Gilda knew not negligence or neglect, nor negativity, it infused into people by iniquity as they had no spiritual steel.  Girthy Gilda was heaven sent.  Forging tacos for the common man; moreover, the uncommon man, such as Thomas, him locking himself away for months, like a quasi-saint in labor, awaiting the birth pangs of becoming, and being, a true erudite.
   Yup, the dieselsmellsound of tacos cooked throughout the City of Angels. and German/Austrian cyborgs were there, along with the late influx of hard-working Mexicans, and the Divine Mix that is AMERICA.