ShinyPosted on April 19th, 2008 1 comment
It was a dark day in the old city. Ominous storm clouds spread their oppressive shadows like an enormous shroud of Turin, only not nearly so mouldy. A few enormous drops of water hurled themselves onto the road like suicidal toaster ovens, but still the heavens persisted in not opening up.
“Damn humid,” remarked a stranger as I passed.
“Yes, it is.” As I approached the corner I couldn’t help noticing that the stranger with the enormous brown thighs stopped talking to me. This, I concluded, was a good thing. I have had my fill of enormous brown thighed strangers, let me tell you.
And anyway, these kind of literary devices - you know like when you have somebody say something instead of the narrator just coming out and telling you that it a humid day - never seem to work out the way I’d hoped and I think it’s because they are too clever by half. It certainly has nothing to do with any kind of imagined incompetence on my part. No sir. I’m here to assure you right now that none of my incompetences are at all imagined…
So, I glanced around the corner to see if it was safe to proceed. You can never be too careful. Unless you really want to. If you want to be too careful, please go right ahead. Don’t mind me. Moron.
Fortunately it seemed as though the demon lords had neglected to place any wards about this particular quarter of the city. Complacency? Carelessness? Overconfidence? No such thing as a demon lord? Who can say. All I know/knew is I was not taking any chances.
Not here. Not now. Not while so much is at stake. Steeling my resolve I swore to stop thinking about steak, but you have no idea how hungry I was at this point. It was a hunger that burned in the pit of my heart, like flaming heart-pits. I longed for her with an intensity that can only be understood by somebody who has lived the depths and heights of legendary romance, or somebody who has suffered from heart-pits.
I have got to stop talking about heart-pits on account of there is probably no such thing and also because it seems to be ruining that which passes for a narrative…
Too late, she cried.
So, having prepared myself mentally for what was to come, I turned the corner confidently and with much aplomb. Well, with some plumbs, at least. I always keep a few plumbs handy, just in case. I mean, they’re not steak, but they’re better than heart-pits.
Damn! Spotted! Spotted dog. See Spot run. See Spot hide. See me hide. See me watch as the evil minions of chaos seek and fail to find and wander off to do something unspeakable to somebody who isn’t me. And a good thing it is too. Because I am a man with a mission. Well, not so much a mission, as a calling. But “calling” is not really the right word either.
Dollar. I am a man with a dollar. Dammit. I have a dollar, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore. I am invincible! Because of my dollar.
Did I mention I have a dollar? A nice shiny dollar. Shiiiiiiny.
One response to “Shiny”
Well you might have a dollar, but it’s only worth 0.43 Euro. Damned minions of currency fluctuations.