"Any marinade, even with tomatoes worth renown, would have its work cut out for it to counteract that amount of bile and hate, but I defer to the doctor's culinary expertise," Yrael says, amused.
He leans to catch a golden-yellow lei tossed by a dancer in white and gold, with white face-paint and a frilly white parasol, and with a smooth movement drops it over Jim's head. He mustn't be the only one without.
The next brass band is decked out in black and gold, playing what sounds like a jazzy funeral march. They are lead by a tall man outfitted in Baron Samedi's costume and paint, smoking a thick cigar whose smoke ruffles the cockerel feathers adorning his black top-hat as he dances.
"Baron Samedi, loa of the Dead," Yrael says, smiling. When the bright eyes behind the skull-like face paint meet his gaze, he mimes tipping an invisible hat in the Baron's direction.
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He leans to catch a golden-yellow lei tossed by a dancer in white and gold, with white face-paint and a frilly white parasol, and with a smooth movement drops it over Jim's head. He mustn't be the only one without.
The next brass band is decked out in black and gold, playing what sounds like a jazzy funeral march. They are lead by a tall man outfitted in Baron Samedi's costume and paint, smoking a thick cigar whose smoke ruffles the cockerel feathers adorning his black top-hat as he dances.
"Baron Samedi, loa of the Dead," Yrael says, smiling. When the bright eyes behind the skull-like face paint meet his gaze, he mimes tipping an invisible hat in the Baron's direction.