At the coffee shop, I was marveling at how much the acorn
resembles both the pineapple and the artichoke. So I took a
picture of it and showed it to my friend. He looked at it for
a moment and then he said “You know that’s not an acorn –
that’s Harry Houdini, who was born in Wisconsin.” What
else do you know about Harry Houdini? I asked him, did
he die of a broken heart? Suddenly Harry became very
enigmatic. Perhaps a better word for it would be moist.
It was raining: the acorns had disappeared.
