_ I hear something... someone is near. Is that you? I can barely make out your silhouette. My eyes are stinging; vision blurred. Light has faded to light.
_ I didn’t know that you spoke French. Silhouette... very impressive. The girls go crazy for that kind of stuff: Debris; silhouette; baquette; per chance... As far as your eyes are concerned, I recommend bathing them in a sluice of ketchup and water at least twice a day. The lycopene in the ketchup invigorates the ocular bones; the vinegar contained therein provides a vigorous cleansing to the ‘windows of the soul’; and the water is water.
_ I’ll tell you what is good for the eyes: naked women.
_ There’s a woman in my town who has no soul. And, beneath all her finery, she is naked.
_ No soul? What holds her together?
_ Random thought processes and copious amounts of alcohol.
_ Naked under her finery? No soul? She sounds like quite a catch. Is she single?
_ Once you’ve run the ketchup through your eyes she should be. If your vision is still blurred and you’re seeing silhouettes, repeat and rinse. Would you like me to give her your phone number? I can leave it in the knot-hole in the tree outside of her house. I’ll wrap it in something shiny and throw pebbles at her window.
_ I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just head home and pick up the lawn sausages left by the neighbors dog. Tidy up a bit and call it a day.
_ Her finery portends of delights, the likes of which may result in the clearing of your vision. All of her former beaus spit feathers when her name is mentioned.
_ She responds to shiny objects left in the knot-hole of a tree under her window? What is her name?
_ Pfffft.
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... For lack of a better way, we call it a flower; for lack of a better way, we call it a rose. What it is, nobody knows.
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