S7·E7 A Meditation on Fruit Cups and Resplendence with Trixie and Katya

In the majestic kingdom of sleep where the heavens are transformed into a silken washhouse of torrential storms, the clouds are wrung dry by invisible hands while heinous blonde flamingos are carried off to a prison of unimaginable cruelty. As flocks of braying geese vanish and reappear as if by magic, I open my body into impossible splits and liquid arcs of dance so resplendent that the very air seems to blush at my elegance. Out of the ether appears Ana De Armas, her tender hand taking mine as we enter a fevered tango of devotion and spin, dipping low into miraculous splits before sharing a simple fruit cup; juicy grapes exchanged like a blessed sacrament. At the crest of this joyful chaos as our limousine runs out of gas, dawn intrudes with its blunt cruelty as I awake.