By the endlessly creative Bob Dvorak. This doesn’t mean that he cannot sit down while writing these things.

Strolling the streets of lower Manhattan the other day at lunch, I wandered into a silversmith’s storefront workshop. The young man immediately bustled out from behind his workbench and introduced himself.

He showed me some of his original-design earrings, rings, belt buckles, and so forth. Then he reached behind the counter and brought out a brilliant piece of artwork.

“It’s a hunting knife,” he said, beaming with pride. I studied the handle, cast in the most intricate designs, and embellished either side with an emerald of exquisite size and clarity.

But what most caught my attention was the blade. It consisted of a length of what appeared to be stainless steel, but with all the shape and substance of a tongue depressor. “The artwork is phenomenal,” I said to him, “but, as a knife, isn’t this effort rather pointless?”

Chris Cole returned:

“True enough,” the young man replied, “but in spite of its ornateness we’re basically conservative in our designs here and we didn’t want it to appear too edgy.” With that he winked at me and sensuously licked his lips.

Knowing that gay young blades are fond of cutting up, I faintly smiled back, thanked the silversmith and gracefully made my exit of the premises.