Anna treats us to a brilliant treatise (or is it a dengue fever nightmare?) on the addictive powers of crocheting. Some strange conflation of compulsion and desire has parboiled her experience down to a bizarre potliquor, indeed. I like it. This could be subtitled Welcome to the Charnel House, or Gunther Contracts Madness in an Indochinese Brothel.
When I grow up I want to write like this.