The over excited man with the one good working eye, one good tooth, (a coincidence I'm sure), awoke in a twitch in the afternoon. With the long bushy eye brow consuming most of his forehead from end to end and so from there he would begin his day. He smelled the air with his bulbous nose. We are sure he took notice of himself at first. The snorting and grumbling incoherent mumbling about the filthy shack, shook the abode he called his palace. Back to the nose; it was a rather large protrusionous thing, probably good for hunting and it stood out prominently on a smallish comic face, full of pimples and covered in freckles, compliments of nature. His skin took on a darkened hue over time from lack of proper hygienic attention or a proper cleansing as is the norm in civilization. He was not bound by those rules since he lived mostly outdoors, panhandling and the like when he could make it to the village.
Each day before stepping outside to the world at large he would jump up and down and spin clockwise three times for good luck for his protection against evil spirits, demons and journalists, (all the same in his book, in his estimation, as he saw fit to surmise things with his limited education and with the one good eye, which had a habit of spinning around from time to time.) He fancied himself as a good judge of character and human behavior, though sometimes he could not remember his own name or his place in the universe. After all, the universe is a very large place full of wonder and mysteries to be discovered.
He passed many people on his way to success. He greeted them with a crooked smile and an extended copper cup, in hopes that they might show some favor to his condition in life. Not all of those who crossed his path on his journeys elsewhere, would be friendly towards him or his cup but he wished them a good day any way.
There were dangerous winding dirt roads way up there in the mountains where he dwell-ed. The narrow path became slippery after a rain fall. There were no guard rails either by the jagged cliffs, which guaranteed certain death, fatality if you please, to anyone or any thing venturing over them. The steepness, the depth of the fall is staggering to even contemplate. Thousands of feet straight down you could go only to be greeted by the sharp rocks below which were equally unfriendly for sure. The ragged old man would take note of this before he fell over. His motto was; try and try again to be careful where you step. He must make a note to himself of this in the future. He tumbled and tumbled over the ledge and thought; he should title his book, (that is if he ever got around to learning how to write or learn how to compose a declarative sentence), A Guide To Cliff Notes And How Not To Go Over. |