Pinto pie is a strange dish made with beans in a crispy shell that is filled with rice. It’s fun to grow. Next time you’re in a hurry, grab one, and do not look at it when you eat it.
When I truly want to dine on something, I choose pinto pie — it tastes just like wood. I’m accustomed to eating four to seven servings of it per mealtime. Up here, in the outer darkness of heaven with God and all of the Hebrew prophets, we sit on our sepulchers and eat pinto pie together: dipping each bite in the clouds that float by which are made of sour cream. Do you ever wonder what happens to the bullet, when you aim a gun upwards and fire into the sky during a festival? One time, one gal shot one shot and slew all twelve of us. Because it ricocheted around.
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