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Description
So there I was, surrounded by dead pigs, and all I had to show for it
was five dollars, three nickels, and two half-pennies. There wasn't a
candle in sight, not that you could see one, even if one really was
there. This was because the Merry-timers painted the windows black to block
the sun from the glowing feet-pedals. Those feet-pedals were the
beginning of the introduction, if you know what I mean, and by your stare and
the wrinkle of your face-hands, I can see you clearly do.

So, there I was. What was i to do about it? Well, I dropped to the
ground, rolled onto one side and began to moan. It's the only correct thing
to do in this kind of situation. What kind of situation, you ask?
Well, to put it complexly, it was a situation to write about. Oh yes, frogs
melted in canvas-covered vases, blue, sickly molasses dripped from the
ceiling, and a pale, yellow tarp was draped over the carpet below.
This was a situation to write about, indeed.

The sky started to soak into the atmosphere as it always did. This was
regular time, after all, and so the giants murmured amongst themselves.
Who was to be the new sky? No one volunteered. It was a crummy job.

So, there I was.

And here I am.

Here, breathing in the tense aroma of intense carvings. This is the
place of watered-down telepathic contributions of the nature that is, as
of yet, undecided.

THE END

Description
So there I was, surrounded by dead pigs, and all I had to show for it
was five dollars, three nickels, and two half-pennies. There wasn't a
candle in sight, not that you could see one, even if one really was
there. This was because the Merry-timers painted the windows black to block
the sun from the glowing feet-pedals. Those feet-pedals were the
beginning of the introduction, if you know what I mean, and by your stare and
the wrinkle of your face-hands, I can see you clearly do.

So, there I was. What was i to do about it? Well, I dropped to the
ground, rolled onto one side and began to moan. It's the only correct thing
to do in this kind of situation. What kind of situation, you ask?
Well, to put it complexly, it was a situation to write about. Oh yes, frogs
melted in canvas-covered vases, blue, sickly molasses dripped from the
ceiling, and a pale, yellow tarp was draped over the carpet below.
This was a situation to write about, indeed.

The sky started to soak into the atmosphere as it always did. This was
regular time, after all, and so the giants murmured amongst themselves.
Who was to be the new sky? No one volunteered. It was a crummy job.

So, there I was.

And here I am.

Here, breathing in the tense aroma of intense carvings. This is the
place of watered-down telepathic contributions of the nature that is, as
of yet, undecided.

THE END