Sunday, November 15, 2009

Los Boyos et Los Détentes

Amazonas sisters dress in cockleshell blouses and red ruby red shoes. Unlike the Kallisto sisters, Oreias and Erinyes, who sleep escarped under a blanket of sparkly bright stars, the Amazonas sisters sleep underneath scratchy horsehair blankets. Dearest aunt Alma makes the most delicious raspberry tarts. 25 pea a half-dozen a dozen a half-crown. Aunt Alma dear tucks the edges with the whites of her fingernails, curbing the bottommost crust with a straight razor. Her tarts are know far and wide for their oozing red berry filling. He sat puzzled and wet under the mutton gray sky eating sweet mouthfuls of raspberry treacle tart. ‘tomorrow is Ship’s Day surely’ he quibbled, ‘...or the day after tomorrow, or after that...’. He offered the sisters a bite of red berry tart, the sisters giggling like schoolgirls. ‘no thank you’ said the sisters, ‘…our stomachs’ are about to burst’. Upon awaking, which he did at 27½ minutes passed the hour, he reached for the last morsel of tart, his stomach growling, lips smacking. ‘bursting stomachs. I best keep my distance surely’.

The night came and went, leaving a slight trace of darkness behind. (Los Boyos abhor Los Détentes). Néstor Tolosa and his bride to be Elizabet Fernández live in a one-room walkup over los Partido Justicialista. Los Mambos De Rastreó, a well-received pantomime group, came and went, leaving nothing behind. ‘bursting stomachs. I best keep my distance surely’. Grumbling his stomach swelled, steam escaping through his naval. ‘Giulia!’ shouted Néstor, ‘your stomach is bursting’. Giulia glared sternly at Néstor Tolosa, betroth of Elizabet Fernández, her eyes red as bloodshot. ‘how dare you sir, my stomach is none of your concern!’ The sisters giggled like schoolgirls, jiggling their auburn red tresses. At 27½ minutes passed the hour, not a moment before, Ship’s Day commenced, a gulag of throwbacks and scalawags queuing for funnels of pink cotton candy.

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