(continued from this) The stranger seems not to hear the bartender. "Do you know anything about bonsai trees?", he asks. "Mine is dropping all its needles, please tell me why." Some of the ranch hands start to laugh. "He's mad", shouts one. "Spent too much time in the midday sun." The bartender ignores him. "I know nuthin' about bonsai trees", he says after a while, "but even if I did, what do you think I am, psychic?" He pauses, then adds gruffly, "Try Uncle Bill's Bonsai Clinic next door." - Peter (whose prose is getting even worse than it already was) [ April 07, 2003: Message edited by: Peter den Haan ]
Suddenly the stranger collapses. Simon, one of the ranch hands, jumps up, knocking over his pint of whiskey, rushes to him and feels his skin. "Hyperpyrexia", he mutters, then more loudly, "Gimme a hand, boys." A few more men get up from behind their glass. Together they lift him and carry him outside where a few horses are lazily drinking water. One of them pushes the horses aside, and with a loud splash they heave the stranger into the basin. Next door, Uncle Bill is coming out of his store to see what all the disturbance is about. In his hand he holds a withered bonsai tree; with his other hand, he is almost thoughtlessly applying a patch to it. The tree is covered in at least a dozen patches of all sizes, shapes and colours. - Peter [ April 07, 2003: Message edited by: Peter den Haan ]
Post by:autobot
I promise I will be the best, most loyal friend ever! All for this tiny ad:
a bit of art, as a gift, the permaculture playing cards