She spun around excitedly. “It’s gotta be better than…” Her pouty little lips, how cute. She looked lost in an early Dianne Keaton way. Then it came to her like an iron butterfly. “It’s better than Cugat.” Everyone clapped and agreed the Carmel glazed Road Apples where indeed better than Cugat they were Allenlishious, in a silly but sad sort of Ingmar Bergman way. When the gas ran out in 2110 all the highways were turned into giant planters. Lot of fruit trees. Every one ate well. Well, the folk with the coin ate well. The rest eat pizza.