Orlando Woolf met the man in the hat at the church bazaar on a Thursday. They ran across one another at the harridan’s sister’s nice-knack table (that week the harridan’s sister decided to change the name of her table from knick to nice, thinking it would generate more interest and up her sales) where the man in the hat was haggling over a Pop-siècle dinghy with double-wide gunwales. ‘Belle Époque, Fin de siècle’ he shouted. ‘C’est merde, plus merde!’ Having overheard this, Orlando Woolf, in defense of the harridan’s sister, said ‘Pardon moi, monsoon, ma c’est voids qui et mired.’ Not having a good command of the French language Orlando Woolf did more harm than good, and as a result the man in the hat got the dinghy for a song.
The man in the hat turned, placing his sou'wester under his arm and said ‘I bog your pogrom, my dear man…what was that you said?’ By this time Orlando Woolf had hightailed it out the church doors and into the sideways, his feet hitting the hot asphalt like tacking. ‘Belle Époque, Fin de siècle’ he hollered ‘Pop-siècle and a dinghy up the parse!’
Orlando Woolf lived in an impractical lighthouse with 74½ steps and a window without a windowpane. He read cheap detective novels and resold copies of Hello Police. His father, who had once out-posted the lighthouse, died in a horrible car accident, his remains being sent to Iceland for a proper burial. Orlando’s father, Iskar, was born in a small Icelandic village where his father had been the lighthouse keeper, and before him, his father and his father’s father. It was a familial duty that every first son take on the duties of the lighthouse keeper upon his retirement, and if he rebelled, he was shunned and exiled from the family. Orlando rebelled and was set afloat on a makeshift raft with 27½ monkeys, one of which he named Scopes.
The man in the hat turned, placing his sou'wester under his arm and said ‘I bog your pogrom, my dear man…what was that you said?’ By this time Orlando Woolf had hightailed it out the church doors and into the sideways, his feet hitting the hot asphalt like tacking. ‘Belle Époque, Fin de siècle’ he hollered ‘Pop-siècle and a dinghy up the parse!’
Orlando Woolf lived in an impractical lighthouse with 74½ steps and a window without a windowpane. He read cheap detective novels and resold copies of Hello Police. His father, who had once out-posted the lighthouse, died in a horrible car accident, his remains being sent to Iceland for a proper burial. Orlando’s father, Iskar, was born in a small Icelandic village where his father had been the lighthouse keeper, and before him, his father and his father’s father. It was a familial duty that every first son take on the duties of the lighthouse keeper upon his retirement, and if he rebelled, he was shunned and exiled from the family. Orlando rebelled and was set afloat on a makeshift raft with 27½ monkeys, one of which he named Scopes.
No comments:
Post a Comment