Clambering Down the Road

Scaziblap con Graff stared at the road, the road gilded with lilies or whatever. It was not really gilded with lilies, not even the kind carved from wrought iron or marble, but still it was a pretty nice road. Clork, S.c.G.’s sidekick, amanuensis, and personal gadfly, snickered and poked himself in the ribs.

“Wha…?” S.c.G. said.

Clork stammered in a way that was impossible to represent in written language. “Clobbler blabber dysphasia junk rock Jubba gubba toop!”

“Have you, I mean, have we, I mean, you understand? Oh why’d we eat that moldy toast?” wailed S.c.G.

The fractal lampshade turned inside out to look at them and pointed some boneless tasseled fingers at them. That glance spoke novels. Too bad they were all in German, a language with which neither of them were familiar.

Doughnuts rained down. The two chums danced with glee, tromping, jelly swooshing out everywhere.

Finally, they hugged, sobbing under the grey-green light of the throbbing lampshade. The road rose up to meet them, hissing and rattling.

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