A candle, a file, and a cup, informed by the malformed vacuum energy of a lost universe, among the trees behind the station, walked into a bar.
Nuts and bolts embezzled the sleepy Tremeraire against wicker oars woven from the dozen dozing doyens of Maple Moor. Heather filled the cup to the brim with candle wax and then filed the wick to nothing but awe and wonder at the size of the unknown canopy, covered with a panoply of stars and planets with an infinity of partitas and partitions of cantatas contrary to what you might have heard in the words of the last salamander. Ginger.
A file, a candle, and a cup walked out of a bar, laden with ladles of limping kangaroos, hopping the butterscotch waltzes and giving pause to the plausible flaws inherent in the systematic destruction of the ropes of the sleeping Tremeraire, turned too far for Constable Heather to care two whits.
Discover more from Faded Houses Green
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
And to think that Georgette could have been mistress to all that
Some would say she is!
“A file, a candle, and a cup walked out of a bar,…” I have lost again. When Could I understand what’s going on there… My English Language is not very well, but my mind seems not good too… Silly me, I try to read like that “A file, a candle, and a cup have been walked out og a bar by the writer…” I am so happy now, I can understand this. Smile. Thank you dear creative writer, I enjoyed on reading and trying to understand progress… Have a nice day, Love, nia
You are a brilliantly creative reader. 😀
I am a reader, but I am not sure about your nice words. Thank you dear Rick, I love to read your short stories, and also I love to share my humble thought that’s all. You inspire me, you are creative writer. And another Thanks for letting me to share my thoughts too. Have a nice day and a new week, Love, nia
Evgrin took a poor pitifully porous poop. Moboat made her take it back flakey flaccid fortuitous for the drowned chicken coop twins Pizza crust never dies, or cries or tries to mount the broccoli stallion. Is just is, if you follow Mozart round the bags of uneaten candy on his birthday. Where commenced the candle to wax; lonely I am but one.😂
I was almost almosting it today.
I’m almost happy for you.
Yes, yes, yes!