Reading Ulysses in Montana #145
Clandestine intestines intertwined along the connections of purple conventions and ochre ogres.
Ginger, on the other hand, felt the opposite and told George so. George told Ginger she must be right because she had left the right shoe in the left-most cupboard after cleaning it with the other fly swatter, there not being a fly in the house for ages. Pages and reams of unseemly reeds and thistles whistled at the other end of the spectrum to see where the radio waves met the gamma rays and transcend into yet a third degree of photonic delight, at only half the speed of its predecessors and intercessors of high-energy prayers.
Weary, Ginger forgot what George had absconded with this time, if not Malabar long past his rocking-horse prime.
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Ginger should have checked the cupboard first
That’s because she loves him…
George, not the horse – although both could be applicable.