Corncrakes and Potash

…pylon the eels Mrs. Kalabash…foodstuffed into itty-biddy mouths. ‘…peacock ninny’ said the man in the hat. The supine cricketed and moaned, a fat man with a skinny face yelling, ‘breach the line me motleys, all ahead and steady as she goes’. Corncrakes and whorehens, Witnesses witnessing and leaps a lording, another day begun began. ‘This is no way to begin the day’ said the man in the hat, ‘…no way indeed’, his face crinkling. The man in the hat decided to take a walk, his sunbonnet cinched under his chin, the sky spreading out in front of him, an endless blue highway. He walked for a bit and stopped, his eyes catching a glimpse of another man walking, a man in a felt bowler with a pheasant hatband. He looked once, then a second time, then a third, then continued on his way, the other man in the hat, the man in the felt bowler with a pheasant hatband, not paying any bother of him. ‘…feeble man’ he said under his breath, ‘…a felt bowler on such a sunshiny day, and with a pheasant hatband, how feeble indeed’. The other man, the man walking in a felt bowler with a pheasant hatband, bent down to retrieve a stone from the ground, a blue opal gemstone brindle with garnet and potash. ‘…a fine specimen indeed’ he said in a soft whisper, ‘…as fine as I’ve ever come across...’. The Witness stuffed a pocketful of pamphlets into his mouth and chewed vigorously, the paper jobbing and sticking to the roof of his mouth. He’d broken promise with Witness McCurry, the head Witness, who had advised him to stuff and sleeve as many pamphlets into as many postboxes as possible, chiding him not to leave any behind, which was a blaspheme unto the Lord God Witness.