U 2?

U 2?

Leaving. Can't Watch. Done. Caesar was smart. Then died and left his town a mess. So much for genius, for weaving a thousand webs, for needing a thousand and one. You'll need a thousand and one my boy. Git while you can.

Chuckles here is the perfect idiot. No one will miss him. Still smokes. Pays a death tax for every pack. But he won't see the treatments they're pain for. Nope. He'll smoke some whole different smoke in a minute or two. You'll cover for me Chuckles, my boy. Many thanks to you. Many. Thanks. A thousand thanks.

Accident or suicide, that is the question. Accidental suicide or suicidal accident? Ambiguity is the key. If you want to cover your tracks no clear story. That's the story. Just point the accusing finger at Chuckles. Don't say what's his crime. Just criminal, is all. Leave 'em scratching their chin hair. He did something wrong.

Now give the old boy a light. Make sure some fire starter 's near. Put there on purpose? Or just unfortunate? Who can say? A little whiskey on the table. Weren't thinking too clear, were we Chuck? And thanks for passing out. You made my job easy.

We'll wrap you up a little. It's a cold night after all. Cozy 's good. Hard to unwrap quick in a pinch though. Should you wake before you die your fuddled brain is gonna cry, “What's that smoke? What did I do to myself?” Won't even remember I was here.

Off we go then. The cigarette 'll drop soon enough. Most of the cash 'll go up in smoke. Not all of it though. I'll have some. More than enough. And some for the firemen. Some secret happiness for them, too, I hope. Maybe they can bring some home, flash it in the wrong places? No one ever knows the real score. And banks always lie about the take. More than enough confusion to keep me an unsuspect in the blank gray universe.

Thanks for trusting me Chuck. I'd never trust you. Not that you're dishonest. For a robber you're really stand up. But an idiot. You'd spend it all gambling in Vegas. If that didn't nail you it'd be the showing off. I'd be right there with you. No thanks to that.

But I do say thanks for letting me drive while you showed up on camera. “Fled on foot”, too, according to reports. Leave me out completely. Leave me an easy exit.

What's this? Godiva chocolates? For me? You even remembered my sweet tooth. Or maybe you meant it for someone else. No matter. It's the perfect conclusion.

 Taste a little funny though. You didn't really like chocolate did you Chuck? Guess someone sold you a bad batch. Probably just as well that your little friend didn't taste the disappointment. Never mind. That smoke is thicker than I expected. I better git. I feel dizzy already.

Pulchritude

The Pulchritude Of A Short Sentence

X spoke always in complete, beautifully constructed sentences (spoken slowly, infrequently), always using some unusual word, a word recently learned, a word his listener had heard never or heard once long ago and forgotten. He was an innocent. He was not trying to impress anyone with his extensive vocabulary and flawless command of grammar. He intended his elaborate and indecipherable sentences as conversation starters. He was hoping for something like this: “Cool sentence. What does 'pulchritude' mean?”

People called his way of speaking “formal”. They were tempted to call it “stilted” but never did. Because in spite of the absence of contractions, the fully enunciated “i-n-g” sounds, the dearth of “like” and other filler, the complex and correct use of sub clauses and free modifiers, the sonorous delivery and nonthreatening eyes, his way of speaking was somehow often startling, surprising, compelling, even liberating. But listeners even as they smiled at him, even if his words were changing their whole day, mostly said to him “You're an odd duck, X”. Or like that, ya know.

“The pulchritude of your hair makes me think of sunrise,” he said one day to a young woman as she walked past him. And she looked at him, not having the slightest idea what he was saying because 'pulchritude' sounded so much like 'putrid' it seemed insulting, but the speaker was mild and smiling and 'putrid' did not go well with 'sunrise'. She was compelled to stop for a moment.

X, for his part, was disappointed in the sentence. During the previous night, while browsing through the dictionary's 'P' entries 'pulchritude' had jumped out at him. Hoping for opportunity he had constructed many elaborate sentences containing this fabulous word. Yet at the moment of need he produced this little thing and not anything he had worked on. He was embarrassed and disappointed with himself.

She said to him, “Cool sentence. What does 'pulchritude' mean?”