There is a guy I know who we call The Gland. He has a job steeping tea. He says he’s from Lemur County but from his accent and the absence of certain knowledge anyone from Lemur would have, I doubt it. I suspect he’s from somewhere nearby, though, because of his scar and shiny black anklet. Reminds me of folks from Flee.
We ran into The Gland last night on our way to Scoots. He was drunk and blubbering on about tomorrow’s Choco-Fun Parade, which he can’t go to because of his rickets. Rickets is catching, they say, so the Marshall has made his presence verboten. The Gland has a girlie named Tina who dances. He wanted to see her march her flowing pennants down Main Street, but now he’ll have to settle for watching from his window.
But he can’t see the parade from his window. He can only see the colored balloons as they go up, one by one, into the blue blue sky.