The Merchant of Pheasants

In the outskirts of Malopolskie in the town of Cracow an elderly atheist by the name of Sakharov played dice with his dog, a brindle Polish foxhound with a weak eye, the dog outwitting the elderly atheist 27½ times out of thirty. In the township of Stockholms Lan Stockholm a Swedish Presbyterian by the name of Olaf Skitter played pinochle with his cat, a Burmese calico with six toes on one foot and two on the other, the cat outwitting the Swedish Presbyterian thirty times out of 27½. In the fiefdom of Antwerpen in the city of Edegem a Belgian cooper by the name of Solomon Burke plays three-card Monty with his hamster, the hamster outwitting the Belgian cooper more often than not. All three men, the Polish elderly atheist, the Swedish Presbyterian and the Belgian cooper, had at one time visited the city where the man in the hat lived, each with his own reason for visiting. The elderly atheist came to see the weeping wall that sat behind the Waymart across from the aqueduct, the Swedish Presbyterian came to see if he could steal the harridan’s sister’s recipe for Pop-siècle stick placemats, and the Belgian cooper came to rid himself of the awful feeling that he was loosing his mind. All three were looking for the Merchant of Pheasants, who they heard lived in a lean-to behind the Waymart across from the Seder grocer’s backing onto the aqueduct.