Faded Houses Green

Reading Ulysses in Montana #405

Denied three times entrance into the forgotten realm of cantankerous cahoots, things went a little off the rails.

Things being the subject, they were not in fact dangling with modifiers they had no business hanging around in that part of town at that time of night, but given room to roam, they could fulfill every grammar mavens dream of not supplying an apostrophe to the succulent possessives.

Cacti, on the other hand, had no hands to speak of, or rather had no hands period. Commas, caught flat footed, were a touch more elegant than their friendly semicolons; however, an em dash–gone to market three days before–was the last to draw the same forgone conclusion and asked, “What was the question?”

Pretensile inhibitors were another matter altogether. Conditioned to prevail in any condition, the air conditioner took the cacti to task for obstructing the story with abstruse attitudes of foreign altitudes, air sickness having been cured long ago through both group therapy and gene therapy, Gene being an enthusiastic advocate of pretensile inhibitors.

Seven more cahoots took eight more things off their rails and trailed the sons of Gene by eight lengths heading into the home stretch of the seventh inning.