The Little Richard Story

Nothing is talking to you in the numbers, in the leaves. No mambo mambo on the wind. No colored streamers in the skies. No one has pasted little notes to you, like kisses. No Fred, no Ginger, no sudden bursting into Stone Age languages. No angels clustered in the rafters. No giants sacked out on the stove. On a day like this, without the music of appearances, creatures could land and you would not be able to explain anything to them, not the fearless industry of beavers, or why dust bunnies prefer the dark, not even how Little Richard himself came into being.