Mr. Floto was walking down the main street of his town (which must not be named) when a man held up a sign that said “Smash”. Mr. Floto lost his breath and fell down but then got up, somewhat dazed. Further along, someone else showed him the word “Omelet” on a piece of cardboard, whereupon Mr. Floto felt ill. After that, he passed a little boy wearing a shirt with the word “Sticklebacks” on it, and he felt so enthusiastic that he jumped on the hood of a car that was stopped at a red light and then rolled off, laughing. Then a severe-looking female graduate student held up a textbook with the word “Gastropods” on the cover, and Mr. Floto became so enraged that he smashed his fist into a newspaper vending box, resulting in a cut to his hand. Finally, he passed the word “Sphenodon” spray-painted on the side of a building, and he ran in terror toward the police station. But before he got there, he saw a store sign that said “Carpets”, and he immediately became calm again.
Did I say “finally”? Sorry, my mistake. Mr. Floto’s misadventure was not over. A bus went by with an advert with the word “Fido”, which caused him to remember the child he had tied up in the basement for some reason which he could not remember. He returned to find the child dead. (Fortunately, the child had no relations, so he was never missed.)
Mr. Floto lamented the impossibility of living in a normal way in such a dangerous and uncontrolled world. Damn all those words! he thought. So he locked himself in his house, vowing never again to read another word. He has not been seen since.
Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney. E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
Reminder: my French book, Villes Bigrement Exotiques, is still in print. Published by Le Dilettante (Paris).