Dry-dock in the Eternal City

I ask that you remain docile for the next few minutes as I spin a tail where gymnastics and an on-the-fly turret play a prominent role. I understand that the words you just read may have caused you to become stiff with fear, that I'm afraid is inexplicable. But do not fear these Penates that cohabit your mind, for once this whole story is digested its meaning will hit you like a bus.

Twas a sunny day and I was deep into a game of stoop ball with the offspring of the neighborhood butcher. We were just outside the five-and-ten when the local troupe of gymnasts came down the sidewalk and began to shout in unison the following decree.

“Vigilance against all who promote the use of rasher as a form of currency! We are on the offensive!”, they bellowed as they began a long diatribe of heroic verse.

I stared on as one by one they began to doff their unitards to reveal not the trim physique of athletes but roll after roll of blubber. I began to parch as the sun beat down on us; furthermore my four-hundred-day clock decided to expire right then, 293 days shy.

The eldest butcher's boy, who himself had the girth of three men, being ever the diplomat, walked right up to the mob and stood amongst them as still as a mannequin. He remained there for what seemed like days, as if he were a freighter stuck in dry-dock, then suddenly he began to lurch about uncontrollably like the shifter of a manual transmission on the fritz.

As I looked on a solemn air fell upon the hoard of hosiery-clad girls and they reminded me of a wolf pack that unexpectedly lost its Alpha male. Like the stalk of a bean plant captured by the lens of a high speed camera the eldest butcher's boy rose up to tower over the group who had now began to scream and shriek, intensifying the noise factor of the growing crowd. If I might interpose a personal remark here, you may find this hard to believe but having seen this for myself, time stood still and that boy surrounded by a hoard of gymnasts resembled an ancient tower found in the Eternal City. Like a cypress growing in the desert this story is a composite of many meanings and themes, mainly though it is about completing an assignment that was given to me.