TINSELWALLOPPUDDING

I had no choice but to participate in an affair of honor, a duel. The reason for it, I do not know. Why? Part of me wants to be a hat band stuffed with money. Buying this hat would be easy. I would without doubt pay 1,000$ for a hat with a hatband stuffed with 2,000$. I partook in an affair of honor, a duel. My ball hit him in the thigh, busting a major artery. The artery is full of red blood, the vein the blue. Burst a major one, and the surgeon did not apply a bandage or a tourniquet. He anaesthetized the person I dueled's head, then wrote on the wounded leg with his pen. Excellent penmanship. I did not champion him. Championing was what I wanted to do or enlist to do at the time, but I was no longer on our dueling hill. No honor ever came of anything. So I went to Spain, wrote in my diary, made sketches. I left it all to my grandson, who had infected ears. My son had infected ears - so did my grandson.

I once collected flocks of pigeons. Pigeon hawks perched on the Brooklyn Bridge would wait for me to release them. Drunks would capture my beloved pigeons. To get them back, I would have to less myself fifty cents. Dig, I said to the drunks in the park. Chip, I said to the drunks on the asphalt. Chip, I said to the drunks on the ice. Squinch, I said to the drunks on the mud. Wake me up when the drunks do something with a material that is not themselves and is not liquid. Pliant, she must have been. These are Spanish pantaloons. This is my pen. This is the artery in my leg. Severed does in.