Donning, and doffing when courtesy demanded, a hat fashioned from the supplest brown felt Éamon Pádraig Pearse sets about the day in song. His day will begin and end before he knows it; a rock crashing into his supple felt-covered head. Donning and doffing, eyes squinting into the sun, he fell upon the dogmen’s camp, the littlest dogman hurling a moss-covered stone at his unawares head. Stumbling and kilting off balance, Éamon Pádraig Pearse falls headfirst into the enormous sweltering lap of the biggest dogman, the littlest dogman jabbing him in the ribs with a stick.
On the 16th of June he could be found wandering the barrios looking for los Biblioteca Nacional, Salón J.L.Ortiz, where word has it cool bottles of Tic-tac are served between 7 and 8:30pm by a panicky waiter with Viking-large teeth."Everything is possible, everything, even the most sordid and undignified things." (Robert Walser, 15 April 1878-25 December 1956) was written in block-letters over the entrance to los Biblioteca Nacional, Salón J.L.Ortiz, the panicky Viking-toothed waiter rubbing the sides of his head with the heels of his hands. Late as he was, Éamon Pádraig Pearse entered the front doors to the church, a jar-toothed congregant staring at him crossly, the rector’s assistant, his voice quavering, announcing the pledge of the indigent.
The man in the hat met Éamon Pádraig Pearse one fine summer day before the Advent of the Cross, neither man wearing a hat suitable for the occasion. Éamon Pádraig Pearse engrossing the man in the hat with stories of intrigue and adventure, about the bottles of cool Tic-tac to be had at los Biblioteca Nacional, Salón J.L.Ortiz and the funny way the Viking-toothed waiter rubbed his head with his hands.
On the 16th of June he could be found wandering the barrios looking for los Biblioteca Nacional, Salón J.L.Ortiz, where word has it cool bottles of Tic-tac are served between 7 and 8:30pm by a panicky waiter with Viking-large teeth."Everything is possible, everything, even the most sordid and undignified things." (Robert Walser, 15 April 1878-25 December 1956) was written in block-letters over the entrance to los Biblioteca Nacional, Salón J.L.Ortiz, the panicky Viking-toothed waiter rubbing the sides of his head with the heels of his hands. Late as he was, Éamon Pádraig Pearse entered the front doors to the church, a jar-toothed congregant staring at him crossly, the rector’s assistant, his voice quavering, announcing the pledge of the indigent.
The man in the hat met Éamon Pádraig Pearse one fine summer day before the Advent of the Cross, neither man wearing a hat suitable for the occasion. Éamon Pádraig Pearse engrossing the man in the hat with stories of intrigue and adventure, about the bottles of cool Tic-tac to be had at los Biblioteca Nacional, Salón J.L.Ortiz and the funny way the Viking-toothed waiter rubbed his head with his hands.
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