Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Stringer Jul 2018
1.

If black humour is a sign of intelligence then who is the most intelligent of all?

The hurricane that swept the weatherman away while reporting on a supposedly tranquil day?

The ravages of nature which left Ozymandias all alone in the midst of the desert?

Cruel cruel uncertainty,

2.

Cupid sneezed, and let his finger go,

A fiat lust led my way,

A golden love gone,

So,

Why, o, why

Do you plague me so?
slay Jul 2018
Show some patience for me please, im sick of all the instant gratification
Pop a chill pill just to breathe, cause all I see is violent recreation, okay then
Bought a necklace then I sneezed, my neck, my heart, my veins they all are frozen, but I’m chosen

I’m coastin ,
Now for the moment
Sip mimosas, with my feet up
She roll the **** up
My little Nina
Shorty got me drinking just to stay up
I feel messed up
Get fed up
Always gotta hold my money closer

But I miss her
She was like a soulmate and a sister
Then she dissed me, I dissed her
But she came back around like I had kissed her

I walk a line so ****** thin, sometimes I think I’m on a one way track to heaven
Never busted on a lick, because my mind is already a prison, I’m Satan
Hit the break so hard and skid, I can’t believe I’m even here to say this, but when you’re famous

You stay blameless
Blinded by the limelight and the danger
I’m no stranger to her pain, though
She holds on to me and never lets go
Baby, let’s go
She tried to tell me no
Put her hands on me but I enjoyed it

All of Her frustration, I endure it
She cycles back to me, another boredom
Can’t replace me and she knows it
But that doesn’t stop her from searching

Please don’t make this complicated, I just need some time alone to fix this
I keep going cause it hurts so bad to look back the past really got me trippin, from a distance
I’m so sorry Didn’t see you standing there my thoughts are cloudy, tunnel vision

Bae, mind your business
We aren’t there yet
And I’m gonna pretend like you ain’t say that
But you hurt me, can’t forget that
I said I forgave you and I meant that

She blew me over
I’m never sober
I think I’m in love, I never told her
So how come I’m not with her?
She’s my twin flame mirror
I can, I can’t fix her

Never mind, I might just try anyway
Give the world to her, she’s my Francis Bean
Why’d they give a heart to me anyway?
I’m gonna break it just to see what’s on the inside
And if I can, just to see how many times
If I can empathize
Make me second guess myself, I won't fight
I've got so much living left inside this life, but
This life's in my head eating myself alive
If I push the pain aside,

I know I hesitated once, but just know that I will never be mistaken.
Once I learn to trust my gut, these ******* won't even know that it was me who hit them, I'm just playing, and
Maybe by the time I'm done, I'll be a person who even I, myself can live with.
King Panda Apr 2017
Before I lit a match,
I turned on your light.

Before I bought a book,
I took you into my arms.

Before I had her printed
on my skin,

I knew she was you.*

It was night. There was
nothing in the sky—not

even black. The world
was a pale gray, and the

bats—the color of smoke.
Then you came—a woman

from space, dusk
with yellow armor. The

moon resting on ocean. Your
halo, a burning wreath of

gold. You, finally. You who
I’d been waiting for—the girl

who sneezed the black, the one
who said, “goodnight.” You,

my moon and stars.
Poor Mr Ketchup felt a bit under the weather today, his head hurt so bad and Oh dear he really felt so
ill. Suddenly he began sneezing so loudly a tissue he sneezed again. Haggis said  “I'd better get you back to bed, before you sneeze any more of these nasty germs all over the place."



Mr Ketchup wasn't too pleased at Haggis’s comment in fact he thought to himself he just wants to get rid of me. “Ah well if that's the way he wants it.”


Mr Ketchup slid quietly back into bed and pulled over his moth eaten sheets.
"Are you still in the huff with me shouted Haggis,"
"I suppose not”,  replied Mr Ketchup...
"Would you like me to make you a hot water bottle then?"
"Okay he moaned" ah tissue he sneezed again.
Quickly he trotted down the stairs to make him a hot water bottle.
Just then Neeps arrived with Mr Ketchup's bottle of lemonade and his favourite comic called the Beano. That put a big smile on his face, suddenly he felt a little bit better. Well he certainly looked brighter
" Glad to see you perking up a bit” said Neeps
Perhaps in a little while we should head off
"I better get my skates on” interrupted Neeps.
“I really need to get going, to catch my bus to Yellow Market.
It’s a long way and the shops will be closing soon.”
“Bye bye for now” sighed Mr Ketchup .....
“is there anything else”
" No” answered Mr Ketchup “nothing"
"Well I will visit you in the morning about 10 o clock
please leave the spare key underneath the brown mat okay"
“Okay” he muttered.....
Mr Ketchup's cheery mood began to wear off very quickly
I think that Mr Ketchup rather liked his friends running after
him fetching and carrying everything for him just because he
had caught a nasty cold
Mr Ketchup had fooled all his friends
as he pulled out his sneezing powder from under his bed
Mr Ketchup had the last laugh
What do you think about that reader?








© 2016 ROSALIND
" " MR KETCHUP WAS UP TO HIS TRICKS AGAIN TO FOOL HIS FRIENDS " "
All summer through
Little brother trees
And
The gusty
Big sister breeze
Played in the sun
They had ample fun

The little boy trees wore a dusty crust
And shower, they must
Lest their leaves , yellowed
Transpire to rustle in summer heat

A drizzle nor a sprinkle
Mother rain
Chose to shower
The mode she set to power
Drenched and dripping wet
The little boy trees with trembling leaves , sneezed

The cool
Big sister breeze
Lovingly caressed
And blow dried
The little brothers trees

Fresh and perfumed
The little boy trees
Stood tall in trousers brown
And
Lovely, minty green coloured tees
Summer showers experience on 10th June :)
Pagan Paul Nov 2018
.
The hypotenuse stretched
as far as the eye could see,
across a vast lateral plain
an horizon mathematically perfect.
And yet …
In the main square of the hypotenuse
the town crier bellowed out tidings.
The Triangle Triumvirate was unstable,
the discovery, nay re-discovery,
of the Mystery, the most horrific of Mysteries,
the Mystery of the missing
Fourth-Side.

Dweeb was a box standard barbarian.
Quick to anger, slow of wit.
Like last night at dinner.
He had Three potatoes, his sister had Four.
He shouted and thumped the table,
his angry voice expunging his ire.
Then his sister had explained,
to calm and reassure him.
Three was more than Four
because it had Five letters in it.
And Five is more than Four.
He thought about his axe,
then about his abacus,
and then he ate his spuds.

The Fourth-Side drifted in spacial isolation.
Of course now it wasn't a Side.
Being attached to nothing, it was just a line,
but it had some tricks.
It could coil and curl itself
to form rude words in joined up writing.
It floated on reminiscing,
about the **** angles it had made
with all its previous adjacent lovers.
The memory caused spasms
and it formed into a rude word
that should never ever be written down.

Teena, Dweeb's sister, vomited.
She had kissed a puppy,
and was being sick in the morning,
was she pregnant?
But, it was never a puppy, always a stork.
He mum had told her, warned her
'never kiss an errant stalk'.
Her mum died of the pox, whatever that is.
Something clicked in her head.
Oh! Stork and stalk!
Well they do sound the same,
especially in a harsh barbarian accent.
But the puppy had sneezed
as she had kissed it goodnight.
She thought about her axe.
And then she threw up again.


Equations to be solved #7
Vlad the Impaler was a Barbarian
+
Vlad the Impaler was a Libra
=
Dracula was a Librarian?



Right Angle was worried.
Duly so.
If the Fourth-Side Mystery was solved
he'd have three other Right Angles to deal with,
instead of a sixty and a thirty.
The Triangle Triumvirate would cease.
An intense Quadrilateral Mexican stand-off
would ruffle his perfect two-seventy external.
He had to divert attention away,
far, far away, from the Fourth-Side.
By Jove he had it! Bingo!
Let them try to solve
the Mystery of
The Back-Side.

Dweeb loved winding up his sister.
So he hid her puppy in a box.
But now he was worried.
Was the puppy still alive?
Or dead? Or both?
This may sound like a ****** stupid question
but where did that last thought come from?
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes, it was a ****** stupid question!

Teena though it very strange.
When she rang the dinner Triangle
the cat sat on the mat,
Salivating!
Curiouser and curiouser.
Conditioned response or learnt behaviour?
Teena dismissed the thought line,
she didn't ask ****** stupid questions.

It had no idea
about its status as a Mystery.
The Fourth-Side has issues.
Complicated issues.
It had somehow conspired
to tie itself in a knot.
And spacial isolation had become crowded.
Missing links everywhere, the sofa of time,
excommunicated integers, 1970's wallpaper,
it all floated about in spacial isolation.
Above all Fourth-Side was intensely agitated.
Couldn't anyone quieten that yapping puppy?




© Pagan Paul (06/11/18)
.
My psychedelic washing machine mind on spin cycle!

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/29495/strange-world/
.
Donna Oct 2018
The other day I
sneezed and went Haikchoooo upon
white sheet of paper
Dean and my daughter got a cold and now I’m getting it , Haikchoooooo , Soz I can’t stop haikchoooing ;) lol **
Shadow Puppet Apr 2017
Empty bottomless pit
The death wish
This feeling really won't end.

Have I relapsed into my depression?
Does everything I say have a dark expression?
Am I sleeping too much and not eating enough?

I force a smile and say I'm fine
Oh how I wish truth seeped from my lips
But it's all lie

Empty bottomless pit
My life is full of nothingness
If I vanished no one would notice
Even my soul does not want me

Bless you
I sneezed

Feel the cool breeze
Just what I need to mock my feelings
Raven Woodfort Oct 2018
my angel’s sneezed
snowflakes
fall from the sky
Their silence, magic, dance
covers me
enchants me
tickles me
The frozen conifers - my friends,
ancient and wise
as mountains they stand -
agree in their soundless chants:
Though the skies a snowy shade of grey,
the words it speaks are worth a million colours

- RW, All rights reserved.
This is just a dreamy poem about walking in a pine forest.
I am aware of how it works
Of how I came to be
Your presence was required
Of this we should agree
For years you were protector
Of fragile cargo so to speak
You brought me with you everywhere
The Shepard with its sheep
Investing time and money
And many sleepless nights
With no manual to speak of
To teach the wrongs and rights
I was fed when I was hungry
I was taught my A, B, C's
I was taught to use the *****
To say "thank you", and "please"
To say "excuse me" when I burped
"God bless you" when you sneezed
Just a general compilation
Of everything I'd need
As the years have passed
I've grown into a man
And I have you to thank
For everything I am
Yes, I still have some rough edges
And mistakes are common place
But the fact is, I'm alive and well
Thanks to your guiding grace
On this day that is so special
I hope it stands above the rest
Know you're loved by all around you
And that you're nothing but the best!
Pagan Paul Jan 18
.
Jerrica had found Lost.
The treasure buried above ground.
The memory foam with dementia.
The quill with no nib …
she thought about feather pens.
Catching herself from falling
the swoon had caught her cold.
This **** ****** sword
was proving to be elusive
and now she was under sustained attack.
From a personal fetish.
It just wouldn't leave her alone,
creeping into her mind unbidden.
She needed to scratch an itch,
if only she knew what that itch was.

Trolls are magickally bound to their bridge.
Leaving it is usually fatal.
But Gyb had bones to gnaw,
and once he had his teeth employed
his mind was a captive onlooker.
A crazy plan formed in his head,
possibly avoiding the brain.
He took mud and formed a figure,
then some of his hair clippings
moulded into the head.
Then he took a leap of disbelief!
He looked into the river and … Click!
Snapped his fingers and fixed the image.
He cut it out of the meniscus
and attached it to the doll familiar.

“Did Achilles have damp ankles
or was he well heeled?”
Morfine had asked Choklut.
“Neither. He was the one who sneezed
and opened the Fête of the Suitors”.
“No. I think he was called Telemarketing,
he sneezed and they drew the tombola raffle”.
“Wasn't there a Goddess involved as well?”.
“Um … Yes, maybe the Goddess of Tissues?”.
“Snivel? No, she is more tears than snot.
I think its the one who turned her husband
into a swan, and made him ****** her handmaiden”.
“Oooo Nasty!”
“No, Nasty fell in love with his own profile,
and called things off with his nymph,
the reverberations can still be heard today”.
There was a brief pause … then,
“What are we doing Choklut?
We found a magickal sword and …
talking of which, where is it?”.
“I don't know. You had it last”.
Just then a serving girl gave them a note.
It said. Tomatoes, Peppers, Onions, Eggs …
“Not that side you dyk” she said.
Morfine turned the note over and read.
“Quick, no time to lose.
Someone saw the sword in the river.
We have to get to stanza 8
before it goes over the waterfall!”.
“Oh” said Choklut “I've never seen a stanza belly flop”.

It was true.
Contrary to the laws of physics.
Kelm saw the sword floating down river.
It looked like any other sword.
So he let it be, dismissed it.
He couldn't swim anyway.
He mused on the irony of that.
Nobody learnt to swim and yet drowning
was an undignified death for a barbarian.
If he could swim
he could find the fishes hiding places.

Jerrica had also been musing.
With a Poet.
That was during the last 3 stanza's.
But now …
she saw a sword floating in the river.
Something didn't quite fit.
Something was not in the right place.
She placed the Poet back in her breast pocket.
'If only he wasn't just 4 inches high' she thought
'he is rather handsome and intelligent'.
Bingo! She had it. But she didn't want it.
Armydiseases Principle of Liquid Dispersement!
It states!
Introduce a solid object into a body of liquid,
then the corresponding volume of liquid is dispersed
back to the nearest solid.
So, right now there is a very small flood
in the shape of a very small sword
ravishing the local area.
She decided, quite rightly as it turns out,
that she was feeding herself a red herring.

Slim stood on the bridge
staring at the churning water below.
How did it happen?
A stanza all of his own,
ruined by the intrusion of morons.
“Morfine and Choklut” he bellowed
“I'm going to eviscerate you”.
The wind carried a few of the words away,
but that was the gist of it.
“Hello” a voice said.
Slim had an accident, and jumped out of his skin.
And plunged into the cold water.
A strong arm pulled him out,
and he was face to face with a troll.
“My name is Gyb. I hate Morf Chok also”.
Nothing had prepared Slim for meeting a troll.
Not even the etti-queue-etti lessons at school.
'Would you care for afternoon tea?'
seemed rather inappropriate.
Gyb broke the awkward silence.
“Look! Sword floating”.
Slim didn't look.
Convinced the troll would eat him.
Thats their way. Distract and devour.
But he couldn't help it, he snuck a look.
And the sword slid on by gently bobbing,
tiny little runes glinting in the sun.

For its part the sword was serenity itself.
Chilled out to the max.
Resting on the water. Relaxing and reclining.
Life was good for the sword.
It had just passed a boy fishing,
poking his rod down a fish hole.
It had passed a young woman,
who looked confused and flustered.
It slid under a stone bridge.
A troll with a doll,
and a man with questionable odour.
And then he heard the roaring.
He sent out his senses,
no mean feat for a sword,
and 'felt' its surroundings.
Its image eye caught sight of the future.
It was an effing great waterfall.
And the future was the way he was heading.
For now.

Narrative Interlude

At this point in the story the author, Pagan Paul, is compelled
to inform the reader/listener of a complaint received
from Messrs Morfine and Choklut.
The substance of which amounts to the following:
That the said author is willfully under using their talent
as supporting cast and denying them access to many stanza's.
Furthermore they are threatening to expose the authors
'irregularities' in his relationship with Princess (name redacted).
The author, Pagan Paul, responds thus:
I should like to remind Messrs Morfine and Choklut
that, with astroke of my quill, I can eradicate them.
Drop them from the story all together.
And with reference to Princess (name redacted) -
'Its my Poem and I'll irregularit if I want to'.
Dear reader/listener prepare yourself for stanza 9.
It has a waterfall in it.
Maybe Morfine and Choklut will appear, maybe not.
They are the ones over a barrel.


Minutes after the sword floated by
something else caught her eye.
To boys on a barrel, in the water.
Boys barreling along or a barrel buoying along?
Choklut noticed her by the bank.
'funny place to have a cash machine' he thought.
Doing his best to impress and look brave.
Morfine waved and nearly fell off.
Suddenly the barrel lid opened
and Slim poked his head out like a tortoise.
“What the …?” said Choklut.
“Just repaying a debt boys” he said.
“But you owe us nothing” Morfine replied.
“Oh but I do” snarled Slim
“I owe you one times intrusion into your own stanza”.
He ducked back inside, and slammed the lid.
“Of all the fatherless ...”
“I blame the author” said Choklut.
“Yeah well, he is the one who's gonna be sorry,
we've just muscled in on stanza 8,
and relegated that waterfall to stanza 9” Morfine chimed.
“Morfine. Morfine! I hear the waterfall coming”.
“No! Not now. He has to leave it until 9 now,
we are about to cross the finish line on 8”.
The waterfall loomed.

Actually the waterfall knew nothing of weaving.
It just stayed where it was, pouring.
Spectacular, it was a very pretty waterfall.
It must be. It attracted tourists.
And it had fun!
It loved watching detritus tumble,
teeter on the brink. And fall.
Especially tourists.
It was over 300 paces high,
less than 40 paces wide,
its descent magnificent liquid ballet,
sparkling droplets shining like jewels,
forever transcending light refraction,
and plunging, plunging, plunging,
into a gorgeous azure puddle.
About ankle deep.



© Pagan Paul (17/01/19)
.
3rd poem in my Strange World collection.

Part 3 out soon :)
.
Rich Apr 19
In that moment I was in my chair yet out of my body
somewhere in the sky’s gentle hair
in strands thick and stretching out past Neptune
I was gone
I was made of flesh yet not at all
my pores had pride pouring out
I sneezed out envy, coughed up anxiety
sadness left with a tear
anger was brushed off my beard
happiness followed the next breath away
and I was left with a soul in the shape of a poem
so it looked like…?
Nothing I could explain but I remained in a place of spiritual terrain
had telescopes where eyes should have been
I made my heart rise and the sun beat
I took a step into a step-less reason
stayed afloat for the next eight seasons
and came back slowly
descending into a cadaver that took its veins for granted
and resurrected a black body that was made as a result of gods needing a hobby

I was meditating.
And the world above awaits you too
if you seek it.
mars Oct 2018
You were letters of a time away and floating on my air as rain pelted our windows and soaked my hair.

Cold with our own ambition and the sky swarmed by grey clouds ridden with my nightmares, dreams, essays that i turned in past the due date and wine you took from the back of your mothers liquor cabinet.

Your car sneezed and coughed cancer cells perpetuating when you turned the key. from the dents on the side and the tobacco scent on the seats i knew you took this from the junkyard on the south side of the boulevard.

You thought you were the problem but I was the one snacking on empty prescription bottles and then chewing glass for dessert blood running down my chin and giggling at the hopelessness that I felt in my soul.

I swallowed broken vases and cut up my esophagus as you spoon fed me unrequited love. i thought we were going to
make it but we only got to the gas station before the car broke down and i went home.
Guðrið 22h
I pulled your ear when you sneezed
your hair when you tossed
your toes when you laughed

and your insides as you cried.
trust it
I’ve got a buddy,
lives in Vinegar Hill.

   Was in the city for work
   so I called him,

waiting for the early morning
zip of caffeine,

   anything to coat my throat.
   He said absolutely.

Hadn’t been since they put
flowers on the corner,

   condensation of colour
   in a ribcage of streets.

The trees were naked
skinny things;

   I felt as bare and bland.
   The truth burnt, left a scar.

Still, I found love in a whirl
on a garage door,

   trickled out three syllables
   to a pretty blonde on a bike.

Window seat, $3.50 down.
Jack knew the waitress,

   her number too.
   Crimson cherries for earrings.

The sun licked us brighter.
Rotund pumpkins, manic eyes,

   toothless and forgotten.
   A beagle sneezed on the corner

of Jay and Plymouth.
Then a lazy detour down snaking Navy.

   A headline: Brooklyn needs jobs.
   Don’t we all, I muttered.

I could see a stars and stripes
with a rip through the middle,

   flapping as a mongrel’s tongue.
   I was thirty and single,

headaches and toast for breakfast,
coffee for blood.

   When I get to 9th, I said to Jack,
   I'll give Cherry a call.
Written: October 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time for a competition. It is not based on real events, but is set in Vinegar Hill, a real area of Brooklyn, New York City. 'Jay', 'Plymouth' and 'Navy' refer to street names nearby. 'Love in a whirl' can (or could) be found on Water St., while the title comes from a mural on Navy St. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
.
The barrel hit the bottom
with a sound something like 'thwelp'.
The first was a 'thud' on mud,
the second definitely a 'Help!'.
Slim rolled from the wreckage
doing his best to look nonchalant,
and failing.
Its hard to look casual
sprawled face down in the dirt,
a help speech bubble floating overhead.
But he did his best
picking himself up slowly,
no-one else was going to do it.
Remarkably, or not, he was unhurt.

Kelm found a rib-cage,
the remains of a large fox,
and he was delighted.
Do barbarians dream of culture nights?
Kelm had, and he liked hitting things.
He had lost all interest in fishing,
in Bruce, in dolls, in girls,
even with the story he was in.
Because now he was, as stated, delighted.
He had his very own
Ex-why-low-fone.

She reached the bottom
blind panic in her open eyes.
She saw the figure of a man
picking himself up slowly.
“Poet!” she shouted at him.
“No” Slim said off-handedly
though he had a few select words.
“Then … I've killed him” she wailed
“Badly?” asked Slim
“No. Rather well actually. He's dead”.
Then she spied the sword
stuck fast in a rock, at a jaunty angle.
Aesthetically pleasing in fairy tales.
And a tiny figure grimly holding on,
reached up for a better grip,
touching the Green stone in the hilt.
Jerrica and Slim were blinded by a flash.

The tingling increased
and the sword felt power
surge through its length
and explode in a bright light.
The connection was complete.
The sword sneezed.
It knew him, he knew it.
Neither of them particularly liked it.

The moment he touched the stone
he felt the tingling feeling
and he felt the connection hit
like a brick wrapped in wool.
His head exploded in pure light,
the sword sneezed
and his future was sealed.
He felt so powerful and … elastic.

“What can you see?” shouted Slim.
“Nothing” Jerrica replied
“Which way is it going?” Slim asked.
They had sunspots, flash-spots,
dancing on, in and through their eyes.
They both needed a *** ***.
But as vision cleared
a shape, a shadow, a form, a man,
greeted their returning sight.

The poet stretched and kept on stretching.
He took stock, he looked great.
From 6 inches to 6 foot
in a matter of moments,
he had grown up.
He took a look around him.
Jerrica and Slim were gawping at him.
The sword felt warm in his hand.
And very smug.
He was a sword wielding poet,
he spoke.

“I do thank thee kindly Princess.
For being my friend and rescuer”.
She blinked quite a lot.

Her body was telling her what boys were for,
but her mind was really not quite sure,
and what if there was no known cure,
but he did make her think thoughts impure.

Seeing his effect upon Jerrica
he smiled in that Poet's flirtatious way.
She blushed even more.
“What is its name? Slim piped in.
“What?” the Poet asked.
“The sword, what's its name?
Fairy tale swords have to have a name”.

Tink, tinky, ******, tong, tung.
Kelm hit the bones with a stick.
Each cracked bone had its own tone
but lacked volume.
He used a bigger stick
and invented bone-shaker music.
He even became famous
with his own backing band
The Clandestine Trolls.

He held the sword
and asked it its name.
It maintained silence
in an embarrassed sulk.
“Aw c'mon” crooned the Poet.
Silence replied.
“Come to think of it” said Jerrica
“what's your name Poet?”.
That got him right in the logics.
He looked back in baleful silence.
The sword chuckled.

The singing bowl woke up,
aware of the presence of Magick,
it started to gently hum.
The sword started to hum.
With its own resonance
aware of the presence of Magick.

Startled Jerrica stumbled
falling through the waterfall
that had with immense interest
being watching proceedings.
Her arm flailed
and knocked the small plinth.
Jewel encrusted, humming, alive,
the bowl landed upside down
on her head.
And the connection was made.
Tingling Jerrica, tingling bowl.
The sword joined in
with a song of joyful union.
Quick as a flash
Jerrica was up on her feet
smoothing down her attire.
A princess neither flounders nor trips.

The Poet had had his hand extended
to help her to her feet.
She looked and smiled
'thanks but I'm ok' at him.
Their eyes locked,
their hearts threw away the key.

Slim got the familiar feeling of
I don't need to be here.
He looked at the smashed barrel
and thought philosophically
'something to tell the grand-kids!'
He headed for a tavern, any tavern, anywhere.

And our hero and heroine?
Well ..
they lived fairly contentedly ever after.

Except for the incident with
the anarchist fortune cookies …
but thats another story.



© Pagan Paul (June 2019)
.
Finally! The last part of this story typed up and posted.
Please enjoy :)
.

— The End —