32 (November 13, 2012)
written on two sheets of lined paper (and yes, it ends in the middle of a sentence)
I wonder if it is worth continuing these accounts, for John says that people have completely stopped responding to them. Well, regardless, I feel compelled to share with the world a review of very unusual events that transpired today, in case someone might someday find them of interest.
Early today, John and I decided to part ways in search of employment, for our Friday festivities at the pub left us in dire need of money. Agreeing to meet John at the docks in the evening, I set out to find any place that could make use of my services. As I walked down the street, I was momentarily distracted by a small shop selling what it advertized to be antiques. Everything there had a familiar look to it, but the wear and tear indicative of its age only served to remind me that my era had long since passed.
The elderly woman working the counter asked me what I was looking for, and I hastily replied that I needed work. As it turned out, I was quite fortunate, for several customers had bought large pieces of furniture from that store, but the woman had no means of delivering it. If I agreet to help with that task, she said that I would be reimbursed for my trouble.
Thus I spent the afternoon delivering a writing desk, a box of dolls, and two lamps. My final delivery was a large, strange-looking wardrobe with mis-matched door knobs. The item in question turned out to be quite heavy, and I lost my grip, only to drop it on the foot of a passer-by. I was quite ashamed and apologized profusely to that young gentleman, but as I was attending to that, the wardrobe fell on its side, and one of the knobs came off entirely.
The man was at first quite angry with me, but then the knob in question captured his attention. It was indeed a fine piece of work in intricately crafted brass. After a moment of thought, the man insisted I escort him to the shop from which I had acquired both the wardrobe and the knob. Feeling as though I had little choice in the matter, I picked up my load and began to head in the direction I had come from-- though after I dropped it twice more, the man decided to carry half of the burden.
As soon as we arrived at the shop, my companion began to question the elderly lady about the identity of the wardrobe's original owner. After many minutes of searching through papers, she was able to tell him the name of that person. The young man was indeed quite shocked to find that the owner in question had been his own aunt. Meanwhile the elderly lady, upon seeing the state of my undelivered cargo, told me quite firmly that my services were no longer necessary.
The young man attempted to phone his aunt multiple times, but it seemed that she did not answer. He told me that he would be visiting her at home. Still ashamed of my earlier accident, I followed him, hoping that I could in some way assist him.
After a long walk, we reached his aunt's house, and the young man wasted no time in asking her
Why are we even arguing about a dead fictional dude and hypothetical ninjas?
AS DICTATED TO INSTANTIATION 17-01-18-01.