Faded Houses Green

The lobster bolstered his position in the eye of the needle under the tutelage of the age of empires and furtive endowments.

Daisy thought she knew a thing or two about the way of all mish mash, but the museum didn’t stay open late enough to provide the necessary shelter for her passages to impudent salvation. A lottery to choose the early entrants to the hay picking contest in late August left Daisy high and dry with not a groat to spare. The saddest sack of all was Doobie with a triple neck of pixie dust to sprinkle on the hopes and dreams of his dearest Daisy. His trousers were triple-pressed, but Daisy was hard-pressed to get a triple lutz out of him when the pond in the back forty freezes over in January. Laughter would carry them about half way to the habit we’ve all been waiting for, but the devil was still in the details and the price too high to pay this season.

Doobie said you really boil the lobster alive? Daisy said no, you boil it dead!