The reason I have so many stories is that things happen to me. I don’t go looking for trouble, it’s always close by.
Once upon a time I was working in an empty leather-goods factory. As I walked down some stairs to the entrance hall I said to my friend: “I’m going to have one of those whips away. They’ll never know, there’s loads of them up there”.
“No you will not”, came a voice.
The voice belonged to a policeman who, together with five more, had materialised in the doorway.
I hoped to convince them I was speaking in jest: what possible use would I have for a whip?
Some time later they, and their fleet of vehicles, departed leaving me with the threat of; “We’ll sort this out on Monday”.
Come Monday, before the lazy twats were out of bed, I had someone at the factory, cash in hand, with exact and specific instructions to buy one of these whips and get a receipt.
Tuesday followed Monday and my envoy returned; “They said you can have it for free. And, it’s not a whip: it’s a riding crop”.
I heard nothing more from the Police. For a number of reasons, this is oft the case with one such as I.
Time passed, Spring became Summer, the Old Queen died and there was talk of the discovery of gold in the hills near a place called Los Angeles – the ‘City of Angels‘, what to do with this ‘whip’? What to do indeed.
Thanks to a girl named, let’s say, Corrina, I found something to do with it and, as they say, the rest is history
All & everyone around us will, one day, be a simple tale. Eventually the story will become muddled, then confused and, ultimately, forgotten. Only a dust shall remain. A dust from which we and everything arose and must therefore return