Blood Sausage and Tripe

‘When I was a boy I wore britches, said the shamble leg man, ‘made from goat’s fur and some strange itchy material’. ‘My mother invented Ships’ Day’, said the man in the hat, ‘no small feat by any stretch of the mind’s eye’. ‘My mother made us eat blood sausage and tripe, scrambled’. ‘Oh,’ said the man in the hat, ‘oh’. ‘Yes oh’. ‘My mother dated a Berber, twice’ said the man in the hat. ‘Mine dated a blind man with a palsied leg’. ‘Mine a mute.’ ‘My aunt dated a dead man long before she realized he was dead’. ‘No smell?’ ‘None whatsoever.’ ‘Mine dated two dead men at the same time, one more dead than the other’. ‘The sky is falling.’ ‘So it is.’