Like all upstanding Americans, Plabnox Cures prefers to celebrate Memorial Day in the company of friends, family, wine, cheese and baked goods. To further that cause, Harriet Griswold (my beau) and I traversed to New York for a holiday picnic with Thorndike, S (une chanteuse), and Weenus. Ween hails from Vermont. For the occasion, I composed a traditional Memorial Day dessert: chocolate coconut macaroon bars. However, when Harriet Griswold and I ran our patriotic ship aground at Thorndike’s domicile, I was informed that “picnic” signified quaffing wine in the park near S’s chateau in Brooklyn.
Since the picnic would be devoid of vittles, Harriet and I made an immediate declaration of hunger. We moseyed on over to a diner called “Paul’s Palace.” The meal had but one foible: the waitress, holding the bill to heighten our anticipation, delivered unto us a digressive, circuitous anecdote about how one of her neighbors once under-tipped her, thus embarrassing both of them.
We rolled out of the palace and onto Tokio 7, a consignment store teeming with avant-garde garments. Harriet tried to converse with Thorn and me, but the goods had placed us under their hypnotic spell, rendering us incommunicative. Our next stop was Obscura: Antiques and Oddities. There was a murdered pigeon sighting one block before Obscura; Thorndike considered scooping up the carrion flesh to pawn and marketing it as an “oddity.” He ultimately passed on the idea because the pigeon is a common bird and impossible to sell. Once inside, I tried out a plumed pirate’s hat, determined it would make a good typing hat for work, but then decided against purchasing it for ridiculous reasons. Weenus then telephoned and importunately demanded our coordinates and how long it would be before we reached S’ place. We informed her that our cosmetic preparations, along with fulfilling S’ behest for wine and cheese, wou
To be continued...
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