The Incident

So, you. You look like the thing you look like. There is no string left here, Doris.

But all the green ones are gone now, eaten with the first chips of the season. Now, only rain falls.

If this were Tuesday, then you would be naked and coated in honey. But we do not have Tuesdays anymore, not since The Incident.

Ah, The Incident. We will never be able to forget. We will never be able to forgive. But, still, life must go on. Someday we will be able to put the container back on that shelf, and the marmoset will learn how to walk again.

It would be best if that did turn out to be the case, but we are no longer allowed to wear the uniform of a marsupial ticket inspector. Not since The Incident.

Now we must go out into the garden, clutching the packet of frozen sprouts against our left knees as we recite the local train timetable for autumn/winter 1957 backwards.

We should never forget how easy it is to remember to forget to remember.