The correct meeting area, if there ever was one, would have to offer the opportunity to receive a novel coating which to some appears as if its taste would resemble, in a vague way, what some have identified as a prehistoric persimmon. While everyone agrees that there's enough doubt to be freely distributed to all even moderately uneasy adults, the pride of place felt by those of us from the 'inner hill' goes quite a far piece to explain why some in our Unit just, 'aren't having any'.
If the people you've been told about fail to arrive either in a timely fashion or without the required acoutrements, then the mandate that each and every one of us has been given will be seen to sputter in the wind and assume a threatening aspect in the minds of at-risk youth and their various hangers-on, advisors and other purported malcontents. If we wish to get in the vehicle driven by a swarthy intellectual of the 'old school', then we are carefully admonished by a representative of the local Chaplaincy to refrain from delivering our verdict on 'things as they seem' until we have examined every last scrap of paper which protrudes from his lost folder and eased our way into a simple method of achieving the limited success we've come to expect.
Our patronage of various unsavoury local endeavours has now come to an indelibly screeching halt, even as we pant with undue anticipation of life under a new regime. In the waning days of this or any Scotch braggart's intersectual bonhomie, the ruling emotion of the day resembles just another whimpering telltale barzintus fiasco in a way which shows all concerned the proper method to fold a napkin during a forgone liquidity crisis. I will agree in as soft a way as I know how, to grant a clemency rainboat into the jaws of a color-blind vagrancy shortfall. But if and when the pleasant aroma of mildly sleazy odes to dainty property seizures fills our enraged nostrils with the scent of things put on hold, then we will have no choice but to beat a path to your likely door and signal a warning shot across your neo-natal prosperity gospel. This is why it never ill behooves a person in good stead with the reigning ethos to refuse to fail to encumber a lame boss's pet with the pent-up reticulations of a life lived as if anything mattered at all. In this we join you in a fervent advocacy of the last traces of good will in semi-hazardous bunting. And no, it won't get you killed. You have our word (and our world).
_________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment