(no subject)
Found this on the kitchen table the other day.
It is two minutes to midnight at K-Mart. Near closing time. "Come to me now, oh spirits of toys. Speak to me." mutters Tim.
"Tim. Tim." They sit upon his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Not poems or lullabyes or the name of his one true love, but toys.
"Helm's Deep. Gimli the Dwarf. Two hundred and seventy dollars on eBay."
"That's right," murmurs Tim. "And they're here at $17.95 each. I'd best take all five."
Tim is the man talking to himself in the toy aisle. But the toy spirits are fickle. They tell him when to buy, but not when to sell.
I wonder if it's part of a work in progress, or just a one-off squirt of imagination from my housemate's fevered brow.
It is two minutes to midnight at K-Mart. Near closing time. "Come to me now, oh spirits of toys. Speak to me." mutters Tim.
"Tim. Tim." They sit upon his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Not poems or lullabyes or the name of his one true love, but toys.
"Helm's Deep. Gimli the Dwarf. Two hundred and seventy dollars on eBay."
"That's right," murmurs Tim. "And they're here at $17.95 each. I'd best take all five."
Tim is the man talking to himself in the toy aisle. But the toy spirits are fickle. They tell him when to buy, but not when to sell.
I wonder if it's part of a work in progress, or just a one-off squirt of imagination from my housemate's fevered brow.