Say No More
His instinct was to blurt it all out, to take the chance
of saying too much. Never much good at getting
stoned, he took to pacing the deck, to hanging over
the rail and watching the water give way to the ship.
Belowdecks, all was sundry. All was as it was the day
before, and the day before that. Unrepentant vicars
danced the nights away. After seven or so days at sea,
he finally began to work on his new tetralogy, the one
he had dreamt of all along, despite the wishes of his
grandparents, his parents, and the good, honest people
of Entgegenwärtigung Town, who all, of course, had
wished him well. The work went quite well for several
days, until it went less well, and then finally stopped,
repeating the last few lines over and over and over.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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