‘I feel referenced’ she said, ‘and none too soon.’ Having a record of one’s wanders, referential points, allows for a quantum of referential points and junctures for one’s life. Without them one tends to wander aimlessly in circles bumping one’s head into doorjambs, forgetting who and where one is, or failing to find one’s way home should one have a home to return to. Not having a home to return to, but a firm grasp of quantum mechanics, the alms woman used street signs as reference points, which themselves had ever-shifting reference points, making referencing quite a chore, or simply closed her eyes and hoped for the best. Hoping, after all, trumps reference points 27 ½ to one, so sometimes hope is all we have when references run thin.
‘Cat got you’re tongue?’ she said, her eyes bulbar and red with redness. Because of her short-circuited circuits the alms woman seldom spoke but in logarithms and doublespeak. This could get quite confusing, more so, doubly confusing, so anyone within ear-range had a tendency to make a swift getaway when they heard her approaching, which she did nimbly and fleet of foot. ‘Gunboat got you’re rear-hind?’ she said to a man with a gumdrop nose and three fingers on his right hand. ‘Not in a figs eye’ she mumbled to a woman with cubbish feet who on hearing the alms woman’s gibbering turned tail and made a swift go for it in the opposing direction. ‘The Pryor is in the prodding’ she yammered to no one in particular, her eyes flashing like direction blinkers. A man out walking his dog, a brown and red and ecru foxhound, glared mirthfully at her, his dog turning up its offish snout and laying a pee-line on the sidewalk in front of her. ‘I’ll have none of that, madam, none whatsoever none!’ The alms woman tilted her head to one side, then the other, and said ‘off with the dog’s head, and be quick about it.’
‘Cat got you’re tongue?’ she said, her eyes bulbar and red with redness. Because of her short-circuited circuits the alms woman seldom spoke but in logarithms and doublespeak. This could get quite confusing, more so, doubly confusing, so anyone within ear-range had a tendency to make a swift getaway when they heard her approaching, which she did nimbly and fleet of foot. ‘Gunboat got you’re rear-hind?’ she said to a man with a gumdrop nose and three fingers on his right hand. ‘Not in a figs eye’ she mumbled to a woman with cubbish feet who on hearing the alms woman’s gibbering turned tail and made a swift go for it in the opposing direction. ‘The Pryor is in the prodding’ she yammered to no one in particular, her eyes flashing like direction blinkers. A man out walking his dog, a brown and red and ecru foxhound, glared mirthfully at her, his dog turning up its offish snout and laying a pee-line on the sidewalk in front of her. ‘I’ll have none of that, madam, none whatsoever none!’ The alms woman tilted her head to one side, then the other, and said ‘off with the dog’s head, and be quick about it.’
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