Wolf Ridge

Attention, shoppers. From within the inverted commas of a strambotto, seditious whispering watermarks this time of day. Time to get out and, as they say, about. Becalmed on a sea of inner stress, sheltered from the cold northern breezes, idly we groove: Must have been the time before this, when we all moved in schools, a finny tribe, and this way and that the caucus raised its din: punctuation and quips, an "environment" like a lovely shed. My own plastic sturgeon warned me away from knowing. Now see the damage. You can't. It's invisible. Anyway, you spent his love, swallowed everything with his knives, a necessary unpleasantness viewed from the rumble seat of what was roaring ahead. I want to change all that. We came here with a mandate of sorts, anyway a clear conscience. Attrition and court costs brought you last year's ten best. Now it's firm and not a bit transparent. Everybody got lost playing hide and seek, except you, who were alone. Not a bad way to end the evening, whistling. They wanted a bad dinner, and at this time a bad dinner was late. Meatloaf, you remembered, is the third vegetable.