Faded Houses Green

Reading Ulysses in Montana #266

Empty. Fortunes rose over the flight of the new bumblebee, and the zest of melon beckoned another string of plaudits.

Pundits, on the other hand, filled the void unwittingly as Ginger took course correction maneuvers, compensating for George’s idiot driving along the frozen pond of future’s past. Shriving another dozen florins on her way to Florence, Texas (a stone’s throw from Paris, depending on how far you can throw such stones), Ginger gave Florence another thing to think about concerning George’s lawn mower and the well-worn path to the pub of reckoning. Or so it seemed.

However the bumblebee looked at things, the melon never rose to the significance of the lemon, for the trees the bee’s melons grew on gave blossoms large enough to swallow said bee, bumble or not. The plaudits would have to remain enough for the time being, and the string remained as empty as her fortunes.

Entirely too late to do anything useful, the zebra left.