This is what I feed Little Prince Stormy: the humble parsley; each morning a green fillup, crisp as a thorn, its edges curled tight, hidden like a kid under a bush, ready to spring, bursting with chlorophyll, dew-break spongy.
With two fingers, I snip a furl of and then another and another of the green green love for my little Prince Stormy, who wrenches it in a clean jerk and masticates confidently.
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