Was juuuuust about to go
out for a walk in the sunshine when a guy came through the wall (the
one facing the inn) and yelled:
”Don't go!”
”Why not?”, I heard
myself ask in calm voice. Apparently I wasn't surprised.
”You simply have to stay
in. He's out there, you know!”
”Who?”
”HIM!”
He reached into his pocket
for smokes though his lungs sounded like a sick bagpipe.
“Who's HIM?”
“Him or her, what do I
know? I won't go into a lengthy discussion about sexes in language.
iIt's easier calling it him. The Bore Monster!”
“The Bore Monster?
What's that? Some sort of pig demon with tusks?”
“Ah man, get real! He's
in Singapore these days. No, the I'll bore-you-to-death monster. That
there thing that jumps you when you go round the village where
nothing happens and everything is so small and bland and dull and
predictable and you don't meet any people and ...”
“Sorry to butt in, but
did you have coffee yet?”
watched by a satellite
I carry Ben Webster
in my pocket
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