dad sent me an email with a pic attached and the message: "and some sex."  the pic was of a large communal dinner table in some kind of lodge, presumably in wyoming, where mountain-chic diners watched chefs prepare gluttons' quantities of sizzling meat, fried eggs, etc., right before their eyes, mostly in sandwich form, it seemed.  it was a moving pic, subtly moving, from a roving vantage.  i interpreted the message as a clue to the image, and the image as a clue to reality: thus "and some sex" was, to my mind, represented by the many glistening patties stacked in one giant sandwich that my dad and his new girlfriend, by his side, ten years his junior, ogled with seething, self-possessed lust, a patty for each time.  It was strange how the pic gleamed, and changed as slowly as the scene, as the sweat on the meat.  i felt i could go inside, join its signified, that the skin between our worlds were permeable, unless I tried.  parasite, he told me once, parasitos meant dinner-guest to the greeks.  imagine we could sate ours with our pics.