Faded Houses Green

Reading Ulysses in Montana #94

Parking the car of pickled guile was not enough to whet Heather’s appetite for undecided indifference.

Three times upon her knight of folly, she bestowed the ropes and chains of honor that even Rube Goldberg would appreciate. Three times the night of folly concluded in elaborate hedges of sculleries and gilt linen of olives. The trellis played a role like any other, and the balcony–visible in the middle distance–intoned a mournful note of obsolete swag. Choosing Clarence was her undoing, but a prayer for captives of liberty supplied his plan with the years his brother was loth to resign.

Victorious pickles told Heather when she could park her car with no more farewell from Clarence than Hastings could reposes like a captive crown in a secret, forbearing park.