The park, Saturday afternoon
John had spent most of the day searching the town for some place (any place, really) that had a piano. Or a harpsichord. He would settle for a harpsichord. But, alas, his search was in vain. Instead, he sat himself down on a bench in the park, stretched out his feet, and admired the public garden.
Okay, so maybe not admired. He couldn't help but compare it to the gardens at Pietro's villa in Italy, or Larry's place in Luxor. Really, criminal masterminds always had the best grounds-keepers. Vicky's garden even compared to this one favorably, though it was never kept up and had an annoying tendency to have a very large, slathering doberman in it. It also had a tendency to have Vicky in it, which made it the very best garden of all, if you'd pardon his lapse into sentimentality.
But, well, this garden was okay, he supposed. It could be spruced up, perhaps with one of those hideous monster sculpture gardens like Pietro had had. Only . . . this time, perhaps they shouldn't move about. . . .
[ooc: open!]
Okay, so maybe not admired. He couldn't help but compare it to the gardens at Pietro's villa in Italy, or Larry's place in Luxor. Really, criminal masterminds always had the best grounds-keepers. Vicky's garden even compared to this one favorably, though it was never kept up and had an annoying tendency to have a very large, slathering doberman in it. It also had a tendency to have Vicky in it, which made it the very best garden of all, if you'd pardon his lapse into sentimentality.
But, well, this garden was okay, he supposed. It could be spruced up, perhaps with one of those hideous monster sculpture gardens like Pietro had had. Only . . . this time, perhaps they shouldn't move about. . . .
[ooc: open!]