Deathbeds Lightheadedness and Graveclothes

(After the white sale the queue disbanded, pillow-slips festooned and ballasted all-everywhere). The man in the hat wondered why people go mad over a white sale, standing hours on end in a straight orderly line barking like curs, complaining of the heat and smell of unwashed clothes and bad breath. ‘The more it rains the less wet it gets, how strange, strange indeed’. The man in the hat stole a peach from the peach tree behind the aqueduct that ran perpendicular to the viaduct across the sideways. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and ran willy-nilly. He ran willy-willy, the peach sticking out of his jacket pocket. ‘The more it rains the less things get wet, how willy-nilly indeed’. The man in the hat ran willy-nilly across the sideways crossways. The legless man ran caroming, one foot crossing over the other, crisscrossing the crossways. He hurried across the necroses as deathbeds and graveclothes made him lightheaded. He knew that if he stopped, even for a moment, he would be overtaken by deathbeds and white sales that happen annually twice a year. And the thought of queuing-up in a white sale lineup overhearing others overhear one another made him pale with anxiety and dread.