Faded Houses Green

Inflicted on lottery winners only, Johan filled the overrunning cup with the balm of Goshen, but he forgot where he put his glasses.

Masses of overeager beavers flooded the market with their dams and locks and levers and senile old caverns of domestic disputes. Reputed to be the third heir of Rasputin, enough filberts filled the stadium with too few geese and barley given over to a strain of strained metaphors you would never believe–having already given your pound of hair at the office  Christmas party last summer. Plumbers plumbed the depths of her soul, but Ginger dove a yard beneath their purpose and struck the kind of gold only Johan could dig out–if George would stop sitting on it.

Lottery winners unite, and give those beavers a run for their money!