The Bore Monster

 

Was just about to go out for a walk in the sunshine when a guy came through the wall (the one facing the inn) and yelled:

”Don't go!”

”Why not?”, I heard myself ask in calm voice. Apparently I wasn't surprised.

”You simply have to stay in. He's out there, you know!”

”Who?”

”HIM!”

He reached into his pocket for smokes though his lungs sounded like a pair of sick bagpipes.

“Who's HIM?”

“Him or her, what do I know? I won't go into a lengthy discussion about sexes in language. It's easier calling it him. The Bore Monster!”

“The Bore Monster? What's that? Some sort of pig demon with tusks?”

“Ah man, get real! That one is in Singapore these days. No, the “I'll bore-you-to-death” monster. That there thing that jumps you when you go round the village where nothing happens and everything is so small and bland and dull and predictable and you don't meet any people and ...”

“Sorry to interrupt, but did you have coffee yet?”


watched by a satellite
I carry Ben Webster’s sound
in my pocket



…

file date: May 27, 2013

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