<strong>Clemenza Amichevole – Gilead Confectioner – How sweet it is?</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://images.starpulse.com/Photos/Previews/Untouchables-movie-p10.jpg)</div><br/><em>Zip-a-dee-doo-dah!  Zip-a-dee-yay!  My oh my what a wonderful day!</em>The robust Italian, broad-shouldered and beaming, dressed in the attire of a gentleman, whistled whilst he trundled along with pep in his step, elan in his flan, and verve in his swerve.  His indomitable optimism, buoyed by boyish bravery and unflinchingly infectious frivolity, anchored itself to an inimitable smile as he angled the city.  Broadly cast was the broadcast of Clemenza Amichevole, Angler Extraordinaire!  The sun shone brightly from its perch in the sky like a brilliant, flaming bird.  It pecked with percussive repetition, hammering that thunderous, thudding succession into the wood of the world.  Woody wouldn’t know now would he?  That woodpecker’s light of optimistic life pervaded every porous membrane and fiber of the firmament.  Clem gazed aloft, agape with wonder and rueful appreciation, at the comet-chasing canopy.  Each adulterous ray of light, an unerring bullet fired from Heaven’s gun, into the bounding mane mundane.  The broad-shouldered cloth could see it all as if in slow motion.  They were blazing projectiles that trailed wispy comet-tailed twine as they slogged through a gelatinous sea of viscous-reality.  The sun’s love lasted only in lingering permutations of explosive photo-shrapnel.  God still had his sense of humor so why shouldn’t he?<br/><br/>One foot ahead of the next.  Each foot in time.  Practiced rhythm.  Easy locomotion.  His vintage ‘40s suit, a motley of tweeds and plaids, played like a playground of frolicking children upon his significant stature.  The swansdown embraced his person with the warmth of a mother’s hug; it insulated him against autumn’s blustery buffets and winter’s inevitable advance.  One foot ahead of the next.  Each foot in time.  Walking was chicken soup for the old man’s soul.  An act so simple…so trivial, for most of our lives, is akin to a lifelong friend.  As if his gait could be more personal a companion than any other Clem cherished his stride for it ferried him to his destination with only minimal  complaint.  Each exaggerated movement was ponderous and deliberate.  Who was in a rush?  Not he.<em>You can’t hurry love.</em><br/><br/>Before him appeared the confectionary’s door as if by some unseen, magical hand that colored his palate with a gourmand’s gilded gluttony.<em>No, you just have to wait.</em>The guiding hand of appetite escorted him on an angel’s wings right up and into El Dorado.  This fabled city was lined wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling with Hershey’s, Reese’s, Mars, Snicker’s, Baby Ruth, Bazooka, Dubble Bubble, Jelly Bellies, Gobstoppers, Jawbreakers, Fun Dip, Tootsie Rolls, Krackel, Mr. Goodbar, Good and Plenty, Mike and Ike, Junior Mints, Whoppers, Goobers, Wax Lips, Zagnuts, BB Bats, Wax Bottles, Sky Bars, Candy Cigarettes, Kits, Kit Kats, Licorice (black and red), Skittles, Mary Jane, Sugar Daddy, Laffy Taffy, salt water taffy, fresh, homemade fudge and ice cream and soda pop in every flavor imaginable.  When the first scents of sweets assailed his olfactory with sugary delight he lost all awareness and spelunked the confectionary coma.<em>I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in.</em>The large Italian’s dark eyes rolled into the back of his head while his eyelids fluttered.  His taste buds flooded their cavernous home with a preemptive salvo of saliva.  Clem’s head swiveled on a marrionette’s strings while his body danced to the cloyingly sweet rhythm of the moppet master.  Candy Mountain was a land of sweets and joy …and joyness…and Clem tiptoed through the tulips while painting the roses red!<br/><br/>Details escaped him.  Who worked behind the counter?  How long had the store been here?  What had he purchased last week?  Where were all the children?  Why was he ever the only person here?  He wandered down the inquisitive path at least once a week until, tuckered, he sank his teeth into another forgetful bite of Lethe; the chocolate-covered candy of forgetfulness had wormed its way into his Willy Wonka wonderland.  All Clemenza Amichevole needed was the golden ticket.<br/><br/><em>Something is rotten in the state of Candy Mountain.</em>It niggled at the substantial man, like a shadow hinting just beyond the edges of his peripheral vision, in the recesses of his mind’s eyes.  Was the candy not as sweet?  Were the dopamine receptor sites not as open?  What about the oxytocin?  Was he finally becoming insulin resistant?  Had they changed something in the recipe?  Was the man…or woman behind the counter a little less friendly to him?  Clem forded the Rocky Road river and swam with heady delight while prickling and bristling at the splinter in his mind.  He couldn’t quite put his pudgy finger on it but he knew something was out of place.  In fact, something had been out of place for a long time.  Wait.  Hadn’t it?  Hadn’t he had these very same thoughts before?  Hadn’t he traveled down this slippery slope stream of consciousness into derailed trains of thought?<em>Only for a moment then the moment’s gone…</em><br/><br/>Ignorance truly could be bliss.