May 18th, 2002 - 11:51 p.m.

No end despite a creative means, and a ruined day.

A young man enters, in a tuxedo, with the tie undone, hands elegantly clasped before him. �Sirs, I regret to inform you that the young Madame has requested that you cease your violent dialogue, and vacate the premises at your earliest convenience.�

�Oh, must we?� a flick of cigarette ash into the cut glass tray, �We were just beginning to become quite comfortable in these surroundings.�

�Yes, she does apologize,� the tuxedoed youth responds, �but discomfort has robbed her ability to cope, you see.�

�Must she be such a yaw in the course of this discourse?� the other man retorts, �what I mean is, we shant be long.�

�She does send her humblest apologies sirs,� the messenger now growing quite discontent, �and she would be quite beholden to you if you were to comply immediately. Now, if you do not mind?�

(The gentleman in the tuxedo is immediately and in a most hostile manner, pummelled with raw rutabagas.)

No, it did not work. Sending an imaginary fellow to speak to whatever it is holding the innards hostage. Perhaps instead the young Madame requires a doctor. Yes. Tomorrow.

A perfectly good rainy day ruined by a lack of clouds and a shining sun. So instead, she turns on the shower, lies down, closes her eyes, and cries.

�Cause I am a full grown man and I am not afraid to... to...�

N.

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