/as they say... there's a method underlying the madness.../

...and you will not find a mcdonald's
in st. petersburg,
but sure as hell you'll find a crêpe
outlet, serving you the lovely
goo with orange caviar,
              orange caviar?!
        yep, the working man's version
of what's riddling vogue-party
       canapés.

- and perhaps i didn't see much of the world,
or rather seen, but judas snippets
of it - but sure as hell,
            i managed to see a lot of... myself.

punctuation note:
          (...) or what we prefer to call: cliff-hangers,
or even better! hangmen!

who would have thought that
such a breakfast could take place,
a slice of white bread,
   which in england we call a blümer
(umlaut variant of oo(h),
          i.e. a bloomer, late bloomer etc.
cousin german translates current
english, rex germanicus;
    did the saxons invent the saxophone?)

diacritical arithmetic -
           and if you think modern greek
doesn't simply exaggerate diacritical
markings, then you wouldn't be
far from the opulance of the harking
(rather than trilling Rs) of the french...

   volapük und herr schleyer
           is also a worthy mention of opulance...

yet all it was, a buttered slice of white
bread, eaten with a mix of
white and red grapes,
               simultaneously chewed
with baby tomatoes...
                 a very unlikely combination,
even though, technically,
tomatoes are fruits, rather than
veggies...
                    a sweetness,
                             with a sourness -
the sickly sweet, with the slightly
teasing sour...

garnished with an "apéritif"
                       (misnomer, hence " "
        enclosure)
                               or rather:
  an appertif (something eaten
        as a conclusion) -
                             to clean the palette,
with a clean riddled-bite into
             a radish, with that noticeable
pinch, that isn't the kind
                         attributed to salt.