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The Medium of Dunce (Other) by Ranger

She sits upon the pavement; stares at glass As Fortune comes to settle in her hand. She'll speak the spirits' tongue and understand Not why the spectres make their stony pass Like silent stars in night wind's chilling blast. That gifted speech is scorned by ghost men - and She sits upon the pavement; stares at glass As Fortune comes to settle in her hand Wreathed in smoke, mad eyes which roll so fast See no silk daybreak leave horizon's band. Before her - jokers, aces, hearts are fanned -She sits upon the pavement, lost in glass.

Ranger 23-Feb-07/6:37 AM
That's true. Indeed, I may have misheard her drunken mumblings; she might have actually said 'Thank you' in beggar dialect as I accidentally dropped a shiny penny on the pavement in front of her. I could not bring myself to attempt to retrieve it from the bow'ls of hell, so let it be.

That being said, I might remind you that no fortune can ever buy enough wipes for that mammoth task. For the rule of bum is that the severity of soiling is always directly inversely proportional to the number and strength of available wipes. So, by that logic, if a beggar were to come into the modest sum of, say, twelve pounds (sterling) and fifty pence, it would do him no good whatsoever - for at that precise moment in time the local Stainsbury's would sell out of scented bathroom tow'lettes*.

*ecargo was wrong - "tow'lette" is a far better word than "bow'ls".




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