I had been zapping around the place in my Datsun 240Z, listening to Ziggy Stardust on the ipod, when I decided I needed a coffee and a serving of homemade Zabaglione at the Zeus Café.
I sat down at my favourite table and placed my order, playing with my antique zircon ring as I waited.
In the corner, Zechariah, a tall handsome Zulu, was playing a zanzer. Sometimes he played a zither. His music was oddly relaxing. Much of it, he had picked up while living in Zanzibar.He could also play drums; doing magic things with his Zildjian cymbals.When he wasn't playing music, he would be sitting reading a Zane Grey novel.
I had just finished eating the zest garnish on my Zabaglione and was drinking my coffee, when in came Zoe, wearing her zany zebra stripe pants, black and red Zorro cape and a top the colour of pink zinc! Her hair was piled on her head a'la Zsa Zsa Gabor.
She zig zagged her way through the tables, and flopped down opposite me, tugging open the zipper on her bag, and ordering a Blackberry Zinger, as she did so.
She had the glow of a zealot about her, and I wondered what she was up to now.
Last month, she had researched Zoroastrianism and had even gone as far as planning a trip to India to visit the Parsees. The fact that her bank account had contained a big fat zero was the only thing that had stopped her, and she knew not to ask me for a loan, as I had zilch myself!
The month before that, she had been heavily into astrology and the zodiac. She had stayed up so late working out her charts, and staying up to view the zodiacal light just before sunrise that month, that by day she acted like a zombie.
I kept wishing she'd take up the art and practice of Zen Buddhism, so she'd calm down a little. I guess that was hoping for too much with someone like Zoe. She was like a zeppelin in a zephyr! Cruising along until the breeze (or in her case, the idea) died.
At least she hadn't decided to become a Zionist. Not yet, anyway.
"I've just been to the zoo!" she exclaimed. "I know what my real calling is now…I'm going to do zoology. I've been taking photos of the zamouse and the zho with my zoom lens, and they are the most amazing animals."
Just then, Zorba came out from the kitchen, carrying a plate of zwieback in one hand, and a serving of zucchini and egg slice in the other. He was wearing his usual zoot suit with his father's old zoster fitting snuggly around his waist. Zorba considered himself to be very cosmopolitan. He would constantly quote Zola to us, just to prove he was educated.
"Hello my little Zincala," he said to Zoe. "What are you up to now? You are like a little zebra-finch, flitting here and there and everywhere. None could keep you in a zenana, could they?"
By now, I had finished my coffee, and I still had a zillion things to do before I could go home and catch up on some zzzs.
As I reached into my bag for the money to pay my bill, my hand brushed the zills I used for belly dancing, reminding me that I had a class that afternoon.
Adding a handful of zacks to the total, as a tip, and plucking a bright red zinnia from the little vase on the table, I left them, still conversing about zoophilia.
I N G R E D I E N T S
8 large egg yolks
1 cup confectioners' (powdered) sugar
1/2 cup of dry Marsala (or Sherry)