A Saturday in June

This is treasonous: this. The shamble leg man met the man in the hat who met the harridan who met the seamstress at the church bazaar on a Saturday in June. Meeting is such great sparrow, said the harridan. To which the shamble leg man replied, yes, such sparrow and hawking. To which the man in the hat said, crumpets, pot-marmalade and chilies. Making sense makes no sense, said the shamble leg man; seldom does. The world is all that there is, added the man in the hat, facts and computations, calibrations and vectoring, algebraic nonsense and blather. And the smell, said the harridan, the bloody smell.