Is He Yid?

I'm sweaty.
I'll tell you why I'm sweaty.
I am wearing a massive woolen sweater.
I liberated it.
I found out, while in the process of removing several of dad's unwanted sweaters from his closet, that this is the very same woolen sweater that my dad was wearing the day my mother met him.
The nostalgia intertwined with the destiny intertwined with the stitching makes this a remarkable item.
"I believe he was building a bird house at the time," my mother regaled.
Of course he was.
There's wood glue all over it.

In other phone calls, I spoke with Imogen today.
I didn't have time to prepare myself or anything.
I was embarrassed when I didn't have any news regarding Burma for her.
Because I'm of the world, you see. I should be privy to such things.
I'm in a terrorism class, for crying out loud.
What's wrong with me?
She likes oysters. I like mussels.
I say tomato.
I don't know what she says.
I'm not sure why she called in the first place. I think Turpin wanted something...
Quite sultry, in fact.
She claims she has a charming laugh, but I don't believe it.
But then...no one can properly represent themself with bronchitis.