lowdown gloom mixed up in molasses

book 1. the 5th, and so on. 1. he never could quite tell a lie and one time at the bottom of a shy-heighted hill, Johnny sat next t shoes crossed with laces frayed, worn by a raggedy man. “So give some knocks; play along, like you’ve been expected and have arrived at the designated hour and right on nick-point. I know ya’ve already someway of your own about it, but anyway; there ya have it from me.” “And what exactly am I playing along with?” ' “The knocks——start with those; work with ‘em as you will.” “An’...uh, how’s my follow-up approach s’posed t go upon answer?” “Ah come on John, don’t wear me out.” “Well what’s this all about? Why won’t ya tell me?” “It’s got nothin’ t do with nothin’, just as all else ya’ve been up to, right? Only sense of somethin’ here pertainin’ is that this is somethin’ t do. One’s gotta find things t do, right?” “Yeah.” “Now maybe only temporarily stave off the lowdown an’ mopey you’ve perfected; ah fine place you’re at here, bein’ out of town; should spur some feeling of refreshment, ‘ay?” “Yeah.” “Now in case of no-answer, don’t dare turn aroun’ an’ come singin’ t me about it; rather, kick your shoes on the mat-rug, go through the door, feel yourself welcomed; an’ in case it’s unanswered and likewise locked, climb in through a window and if the windows won’t budge maybe the flue is already open? Could there even be a problem in this?” “Why won’t you come along with?” “I’ve gotta be at the cross streets, an’ you know why, wink-wink.” “Yum.” “Yeah, yummy even, but I cannot share if in the meantime all you’re caught up in, is lousin’ away your youth an’ all. There must be the exchange, we both would like our fill, ay? An’ I for one, don’t strangle for conversation, you may know?” “Yeah I know.” “Good. Then go, get gone an’ goin’; I’ll seeya tomorrow, perhaps morning.” Johnny picked upright his bicycle sat on the seat and awayly went, westward. “Yass boy——Right-right, keep a-ridin’ thata way...mornin’ comes, we’ll have ourselves a talk.” 2. Once upon a setting sun, a shanty in the South; a man with his head tangle-tied in experimentation of sorts. Knock KNock KNOck KNOCk KNOCK KNOCK! KNOCK! Then immediate silence; A lone gaunt man in the slumping single-storied flat waits, listens, weary, becoming dull with his suspicions, trouble with visitors in the past. Whoever delivered the pounding beckons either passed with the wind or was careful not t stir. "Illiterate cacophony..." The heel of the inhabitant clomped down upon the flimsy floorboards, one at a time. At the door no eye hole for peeping; both windows t the left and right guarded by sun-bleached shades. Steps inside sharply cut to a swift latching-turn; the deadbolt shifted into it’s cave; the door opened inward and like clockwork: a cracking creak introduces the barrel of an ole-timer six-shooter emanating outward from thin rectangle blackness. A face is fractionally revealed: a receding hair line; an eye cupped by purple-sunk crescent; a contrasting moon skin-tone laying over a high cheek bone from which a long face hung. Didn’t take long for the arches of the eyebrow t near horseshoe. Time passes. Below the exterior door knob, a lightly scraping whish with the breeze. “I see there you have an apple tree.” “...Could it, be?” “Broke out not long ago——on the lam——laying low at ma’s——mind if I pick me a few ripe ones, brother?" 3. Read the following line in one second flat: PHOOoowAHhphoowahphowahphwahphwahphwhphwhphh——Thunk! (woody vibrato hum) green apple. split in half. knife stuck in tree trunk. fruit fell. flip flop popped off as if repelled by the core. One could not state this man noticed it happen, the tree flinched more than he; his eyes locked in hard dreamy gaze——one suggestive of a body removed from place. Rare is there a lure on Earth that could provoke such carefree countenance in such a stance. Were he on his tippy toes, his head’d be runny red. Hunched. Sullen. Brooding. Glaring eyes scrape the brim of his forward-tilted short-stack slink hat; black in color. Another man, hardly an other man at all; lank jawed. Stood a good 19 yards that way, statue still except for the arms——thin Grandfather arms——dangling, timidly taking t the wind; pendulous. His lips slow-peel t reveal teeth-t-teeth alignment; a piece of the portrait missing. “Such bravery; is boredom, becoming? Or’ve I been disturbed to be ignored...you’ve made quite, the interruption.” No response. The man at the tree bends; his hands on his catcher thighs. With slow-starting and listless animation, the fatigued individual dips a hand in his back pocket whips out wings open a pair of wire rimmed glasses, throws them on the bridge of nose hooking round the cartilage of ears. He languidly twizzles his torso as an owl rotates a neck gone limp; everything about him rigidly stringy. The eye-line of his company is what he’s after. Eyelids squeeze, eyebrows flatten, crooks ‘n juts his lower jawbone in sinister distaste. “The woman...” “Thought the figure looked familiar,” said the man at the tree; a generalized enchantment. “But can you make her out better over there from where you stand? I’m at a tough angle as far as the contrast of sunlight and shadow goes.” The man possessive of grim bearing swivels his beady eyes t their respective corners; an unseeing stare. “Spotted her not long before your arrival, not far from where you stand, but...” he says, then mechanically removes his glasses, tucks them away. “My discernment of borders is limited; why don’t you go out on a limb to explain me where lies the appeal?” “H’m. Hard to say. She just stands there,” intonation of reflection, “Posture, upright prim, with courtly perfection. From this vantage the wooden beam she leans against makes her figure almost wholly imperceptible——likely——I would not have noticed it lingering over there, that far off at all were it not for the atmospheric hue of trodden orange this late afternoon sun reflects off the lower half of her dress; and the face——her face——although I find it provoking waves of wonderment thrilling deep desire I can not claim to be able to make out the slightest sight of skin, the mie-noot-est grace of physique due to darkness cast by hat-brim shade——and woe; for I’m left to imagine her curves myself. Automatically it’s natural I’m in love and where is one to go from there? Is there something——perhaps someone she is awaiting——yes? Perhaps I? She could be looking this way, watching us at play and why not put myself into consideration? Sure I may be plain dreamy though not so tucked away I find myself holding to this supplication seriously, but she’s much too far. Her position her distance dictates my imagination settling it into an outright realistic scenario apropos of her longing to be consoled from her worldly worries——none of which I know——but I dare to guess she’s got ‘em and more so’d be willing to indulge in a bit of lyrical wit from a fool bearing a burdened heart, really why not? A perfectly harmless hope——everyone needs temporary distraction from troubles and it’s troubling for me to see her standing there so alone; a soul stoically settled, actively engaged in a mysterious form of silent meditation, a remarkable...