Faded Houses Green

In the balm of the night, embalmed on the rigid pallaster, Heddy Fingers gave an adroit curtsy to the soul of something cracking good on the catwalk above the table games.

A piercing thud erupted from the other end of the bifurcated clam dip where Heddy had her fingers around the throat of a pygmy dragon, emblazoned for all to see with a chrome codpiece in a rainbow of taunting disguises. The prognosis was good if only the rest of the party could barter or banter in a renaissance manner about a jar that was adoor, or sometimes a door that was afoot. Ajar. Her jar would keep time with the best of them, when the last motor of diligence silenced its futile harm. Compact.

Compact. The longest road is only a day longer than the seventh wonder of the whirled peas in an imperfect blender. Tidy does it, laughing only in everlasting increments.

Originally published December 23, 2023