Thursday, March 16, 2006

The incision you made in my heart has yet to heal. Take off your mask, for god's sake, and give us a kiss.

A card arrives from the old gang at the Experiential Apparatus Establishment at Choking Down, wishing me a swift recovery from my 'recent operation'.

I smiled, of course, since there's still no sign of the operation being performed. I've been prepared and rolled down to the basement seven times so far, and each time Professor Nyfenfork has looked into the innards of the day's chicken and shaken his head, no.

Choking Down, though! I expect the old place is very much the same as in my day. Vital work, of course. But such fun in the evenings.

Endless cups of tea. Grand chats. Board games. And trips to the local cinema. We'd march there, arm in arm, singing at the top of our lungs, our voices ringing out across the evening, setting the electric fence a-quiver with its own particular music. And a funeral almost every week.


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