Queueing.

I can see you kneeling in front of the altar.

Gateway to paradise.

I can see the fever on your moving lips.

Desperate muttering.

Buying or begging for your ticket,

I wonder,

If they even have those at all.

2: How my pretty-looking wind chime found its way to the bay window.

Not quite, I don't see a reason why I should buy anything that I, without so much as losing half a breath, can pick from under my feet. But, hang on, aren't you the Peter Piper who previously picked pickled peppers for that...?

Oh yes, that Poseidon fellow, said Peter Piper sounding not entirely pleased at all.

Why, how did - I don't understand, said I, trying hard to be apathetic.

It's not a very delightful tale, long story short, I still am working for Him, except that I'm bound to him until my contract expires.

Which is until?

Until He decides so, actually, Peter Piper sighed.

Not quite knowing what to say or do, said I, must have been terrible, whatever you did.

Yeah, He's got me good this time.

I couldn't say I was sorry, at least you're still in the same line of work, right?

Essentially, yes, the usual tongue twisting charms and jinxes, we actually have all sorts of other products now, may I interest you in buying the seahorse hex?

Don't quite have anyone in mind to make gay at this moment, thank you.

Oh come on, you have to buy an itsy-bitsy anything, please, he started to whinge and whine, I'll be trapped here for longer, otherwise.

Which was how I winded up back here with a pretty-looking wind chime hanging by the bay window of my seven-story terracotta pagoda. Wait until you hear what it does, you'll never believe it.

1: The twisty-tongued lady with the coral-crusted child in her eye.

Seashells hang by the bay window of my seven-story terracotta pagoda. Bits of shell from gastropods and bivalves, riches of the deep, strung together to a thin piece of bamboo to form a pretty-looking wind chime.

I met a twisty-tongued lady selling her beach-pickings on the seashore last Sunday. I thought to myself: Well, isn't it ever-so strange to be selling stuff I could easily pick myself by the shore? So I asked this strange twisty-tongued lady who stood by the seashore why I should purchase her very ordinary-looking seashells. Lo and behold, from her turquoise-colored eyes, I saw a young boy encrusted with corals from top to toe.

Oh my, was my undignified reply.

Hello, said a gurgling voice, obviously coming from the crustacean-covered child, and who might you be?

Just a passerby person who might potentially be a purchaser, I said when I had sufficiently recovered enough, and who might you be?

My name is Peter, Peter Piper. Would you like to have a look at some of our goods, sir?

Home, sweet home.

Honest opinion:

This feels like the starting of something beautiful.