Reading between the lines isn’t that difficult, usually. You just have to squint a little, though, of course, that is all predicated on the idea that you know you have to read between the lines in the first place, and that, of course, must precede squinting at those lines, and so on, and there’s always another bus, isn’t there?
Marcel had always taken his oath of mimey silence seriously, but the day he happened upon D’Arcy Delaney’s warm welcome tested even his steadfast allegiance to a rather silly rule. The fact that D’Arcy, like his forebears before him and even befive and besix those forebears, had no physical ability to feel the heat, did not help on this occasion, or on the many occasions previously when his smithy’s shop had burnt down.
Tracy’s invention was particularly impressive during her trip to the Aran Islands. Their stone walls had never thought such independence could be possible for seemingly permanent, and pretty heavy, geological structures. That was when their thoughts turned to cruises to Rapa Nui to lift their stony spirits, or at least drown their stony sorrows. Tracy and Lucky, being travel agents of the first, and stoniest order, arranged everything.
Would anyone really begrudge the rightful brooders their rightful right to enjoy the spacious broodiness of Cafè Night Parrot? You wouldn’t think so, but when I attended for my usual tunacino with extra foam (sea foam, to be precise), it was standing-room-on-the-counter only. Luckily, my perfect balance saw me through, that and Efraim’s way with wayward foam. And an extra tuna mint on my saucer.
You may be thinking, well, Dr On Mars, you don’t look like a pretzel, ho ho. And you’d be right, friend, I do not, except when I have had the misfortune to eat a pretzel that has seen better days. On those occasions, when I resemble and feel rather like a green pretzel, it is best to visit my local tuna taverna and drown my pretzelly sorrows in a tuna Tanqueray on the rocks.
The thing about black cats is that they are surrounded by superstition and manufactured mystery. They are quite normal creatures with the average habits of the average moggie (which are, of course, anything but average, and everything superior). But do you think I can convince the humans of these facts? Correct. I can not.
It should be mentioned that Gerard, the hapless sculptor, has previous form in locating his exhibitions in ‘interesting’ places. The Mariana Trench for his sand sculptures, for instance; remote Vostok Station in Antarctica for his replica build of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude. You get the picture, friends, Gerard enjoys a challenge, but you don’t have to. Simply go to his next slide night and be amazed, and then immediately sleepy. You’re welcome.