FireVaney

There I am, not far from Niagara Falls, sitting on a park bench in a small Canadian town. A shallow pool with a spout of water is within leaping distance. As I am but a tourist here, I dare not leap.   The small birds of southern Canada — not all of them, but enough to take note of — flock around me, my two slices of fudge, and my mocha. None of these birds have a taste for the several crumbles of fudge I’ve flicked their way. That doesn’t stop them from homing in on my position. Admittedly, I am not entirely sure that I’ve enjoyed my fudge myself. This comes as something of a surprise.  (One slice, if you must know, is peanut butter chocolate fudge; the other’s cookies and cream fudge. Please don’t get me wrong, I love old-fashioned chocolate fudge, but at my age I’ve had more than my fair share of it. Nowadays I seek to add to my fudgy / fudge-ly / fudge-able palate and broaden my fudgy / fudge-ly / fudge-able horizons. And, please, my personal and very slight displeasure fo...