Sunday, December the 5th, 2004

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Old Doddery Martin

Old doddery Martin trudged through the park. His hat was askew of course. He blanched when he saw the vinegar man who came all the way from the outskirts of Minsk. Why was a Minsk-man here in the park? A man who was jabbering at a crow in a tree? Doddery Martin mussed his hair. He went to feed the park's polar bear. He fed it with biscuits and nuts. I said, he fed it with biscuits and nuts. Back in Vietnam, old doddery Martin had gutted huts. He'd been a keen marine in his time. Now he forged banknotes in a basement by the Seine, in Paris, in Paris, in the capital of France, where his banknotes were passed from hand to hand by evil men, banknotes made by doddery Martin, home at last from Vietnam.