Monday, May 22, 2006

Milkhill Puppy

I can hear the chug-chug-chugging of fourteen bright hearts in their vibraphonic shells. And all this on a Wednesday. Earlier today, you see, I pushed my bike up the steep hill to the coal field, and found it in a continental state. Whether this property belonged to the bike or the coal field is hard to say, but I can say this, and, indeed, just did. But quibbles in a pile for a moment, the true discovery of my journey was how much fresher the air was up there, and how the clouds, usually foreboding, dark creatures, revealed their winning personalities.

Milkhill, as I affectionately call him, hopped on by three hours after my return and informed me of each errand he had to do, in chronological order, and each gathering he had to attend, with particular emphasis on the enormous amount of hopping he would have to do to get from gathering to gathering, errand to errand, gathering to errand and errand to gathering. I listened as patiently as a stunted man possibly could and then offered him a stiff cup of tea, which, after his accepting and my preparation, he gulped down within a matter of seconds.

When he returned to my quarters, he was in a dishevelled sate and panting heavily. I made a joke about trousers, but, seeing as it referenced a narrative description of his respiration and not anything that he could physically sense or mentally perceive from the information available, he responded with confusion. I didn't explain, though.

He was a good friend and I liked him. I told him so, taking extra care to convey the platonic and strictly non-romantic nature of this compliment so as not to scare him off. Then, thinking I'd gone too far with this rather soggy outburst, I punched him in the gut and said I was joking.
"So you don't like me?"
"...No, I like you, I suppose."
"So you weren't joking?"
"No, I was joking. But I was telling the truth to some extent too."
"Oh."
There was a sticky pause. I punched him in the gut again and then left bright red.

From your favourite attention-seeking plagiarist,

Stephan Eggberg.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Nothing's sacred anymore.
But then again I never was...

Hugh said...

Nothing here was ever sacred. I built this shitty place on precisely the same thing which prompted you to respond to this one.

Hugh said...

That, and the attention-seeking plagiarism mentioned in this post.