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Toothpicks
9.23.2003 by Rosemary, every Tuesday.


Happy Tuesday.
Two friends of a friend make an excellent online comic called A Softer World. The tone is somewhat Bedtime-Stories-y. Recently Warren Ellis, writer of comics like Transmetropolitan, linked to them and praised them muchly. I think you should check it out.




Little Mr. Klowsky was a very quiet neighbor who never left the house, which is why we were so surprised to see so many cars and vans parked about his run-down bungalow last June. When my wife and I strolled by to sneak a look, we noticed that the vehicles had logos from television and radio stations plastered all over. The curiosity that overtook us was almost violent. The rickety screen door was unlocked and we wandered in; following the sound of voices, we discovered a tightly-packed crowd of interviewers, cameramen, and lighting specialists filling Mr. Klowsky's kitchen. At the west end of the kitchen a crisp television personality was interviewing the short, cowering old man.

"When did you decide to begin the tower?" asked the personality. Mr. Klowsky muttered something, glanced to his left, and looked lost. That was when I noticed the incredible marvel beside him. There stood an intricate tower made entirely of toothpicks and dobs of candle wax. It was clearly unfinished but already reached as high as my wife's lovely hips.

"And what possessed you, sir, to commence construction?" asked the personality. Klowsky stammered. A woman behind me said, "What a funny old man. They say some creditors found him here when they came to collect. Did you see the crumbling living room? This house is a gas."

"Truly a wonder," summed up the personality. He grinned into the camera until the cameraman turned it off. Then he ran a hand through his slick hair and strode away, a train of attendants scurrying in his wake.

Klowsky relaxed a little. I moved toward him eagerly and knelt to speak. "Will you be building any more stunning creations, Mr. Klowsky?" I inquired.

He cast his eyes mournfully, hungrily, at the shelves above the weird tower. "I just wanted to reach me gun," he said, or something to that effect. His voice was drowned in the hubbub of the crowd.




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