I CHOO

Saint Roley has lingered in the front garden, near the peach tree.

It is in blossom.

Pink blossom against a blue sky.

It reminds him of Pinky.

The peach blossom is unaware it shares a quality with Pinky.

Peach blossom has one collective idea.

What is it?

Your guess is as good as mine, but mine is: Hang On When The Weather Turns Stormy.

Good advice, not always followed.

Saint Roley flutters inside.

Down the passage and into the kitchen where Terence dances and twirls in his snake shorts.

Look at me!

The snake shorts have worked their way down.

Saint Roley sees that the snake shorts have a yellow lining inside the waistband.

Your shorts are falling down, says Saint Roley. Turn the waistband over

Terence hitches them up and turns the waistband over. It's yellow! Hurrah! And the shorts stay up better.

Where is Pinky? asks Saint Roley. Is he mended?

Yes, says Terence. But now he can't talk, I don't even want him.

Where? asks Saint Roley.

There on the table, says Terence.

He continues his dancing. Clomp clomp.

Stop that! says Ageless lobster. Enough!

Terence dances even more loudly.

Saint Roley approaches the table, at which Gaius is occupied, testing his new pencils, on a notepad.

Pinky, inflated, is observing.

Saint Roley can see the patched hole.

It beats, as though words are pressing to be released from inside Pinky.

Saint Roley places his ear against the beating hole, hoping to pick up a communication.

It would be helpful if Pinky knew code.

Saint Roley looks at Pinky's five blown up fingers.

Of course. He has fingers. Perhaps he could write.

And there on the table is a very sharp pencil.

Saint Roley picks it up and is about to hand it to Pinky when Pinky leans forward.

Pshh!

A thin stream of air so very thin because the pencil is sharp streams out of Pinky.

And words flow out with it.

~ ~ ~ ~ I CHOO ~ ~ ~ ~