‘…the sky will not fall…’ said the lamplighter, ‘…I will not allow it…’. Having lit all the lamps in his district he left for home, his wick-lighter smoldering. On Thursdays he relit all the lamps with short wicks, on Mondays he lit all those lamps that lit the walkway in front of the Waymart, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays he lit those lamps that he’d forgotten to light on Sunday, on Fridays and Saturdays he rested, having lit and relit all the lamps in his district that needed lighting. He would not allow the sky to fall. His children, Labe, Mercer, Collette, Hamm, William and Millicent, and his wife, Millie, depended on him, so the sky falling was unthinkable, as were unlit lamps and low wicks.
The man in the hat knew the lamplighter from his days as a letter carrier for the Newton Letter Co. The two kept company at the end of the workday; the man in the hat grinding the corns and trumpets from his feet, the lamplighter salving the burnt tips of his fingers, both men enjoying a ball of Cutter’s Scotch Whiskey. ‘…my corns and trumpets are killing me…’. ‘…and me my fingers…’. ‘…ah but for the Whiskey…’. ‘…but indeed…’. ‘…makes a man long for better times…’. ‘…pine…’. ‘…I’d give my left arm for a day without rain…’. ‘…and me a leg…’. ‘…and that’d be that…’. ‘…that’s that…’. ‘…have you a smoke to spare…?’ ‘…have I yes I have…’. ‘…pass one over will you now my good man…’. ‘…and that’ll be that…’. ‘…never one to pass over a new trick…’. ‘…and I neither I…’. Both men nodded and went their separate way, the man in the hat back to his declensions, the lamplighter to his wife and children, neither man uttering a word as they went.
The lamplighter’s family kept a light on in the window so their da could find his way homeward home. He had trouble seeing in the dark and was prone to fits of lethargy and disorientation. The littlest one Hamm feared his da would fall down a rabbit hole, the biggest one Mercer that his da would bump his head, the whole family fearful their da would never come home, choosing another family with littler children and a mother who didn't complain so much.
The man in the hat knew the lamplighter from his days as a letter carrier for the Newton Letter Co. The two kept company at the end of the workday; the man in the hat grinding the corns and trumpets from his feet, the lamplighter salving the burnt tips of his fingers, both men enjoying a ball of Cutter’s Scotch Whiskey. ‘…my corns and trumpets are killing me…’. ‘…and me my fingers…’. ‘…ah but for the Whiskey…’. ‘…but indeed…’. ‘…makes a man long for better times…’. ‘…pine…’. ‘…I’d give my left arm for a day without rain…’. ‘…and me a leg…’. ‘…and that’d be that…’. ‘…that’s that…’. ‘…have you a smoke to spare…?’ ‘…have I yes I have…’. ‘…pass one over will you now my good man…’. ‘…and that’ll be that…’. ‘…never one to pass over a new trick…’. ‘…and I neither I…’. Both men nodded and went their separate way, the man in the hat back to his declensions, the lamplighter to his wife and children, neither man uttering a word as they went.
The lamplighter’s family kept a light on in the window so their da could find his way homeward home. He had trouble seeing in the dark and was prone to fits of lethargy and disorientation. The littlest one Hamm feared his da would fall down a rabbit hole, the biggest one Mercer that his da would bump his head, the whole family fearful their da would never come home, choosing another family with littler children and a mother who didn't complain so much.
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