“So what did you get for me at the store, my blue-eyed son?”
“Nothing, my dear old pony.”
“But didn’t I give you a long list of compositions to get at the store?”
“Yes, you did. You did indeed. And I went to the store.”
“Then what happened to all the compositions, to all the music at the store, my blue-eyed son?”
“Everything they had was decomposed, my dear old pony.”
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
A grotesque dialog for Sunday Scribblings #107 – Compose. Unless you’d prefer to call it bizarre, droll, whimsical or odd. All these come close to describe the mood I was in when I wrote it.