Linux, musical road-dogging, and daily life by Paul W. Frields
One man’s trash is another man’s trepidation.

One man’s trash is another man’s trepidation.

Eleya holds our very first Garden Bazaar today. The sale of our Sundries and Trinkets, amassed over half our lifetime, will hopefully render enough Coinage to allow us to flee the drudgery of this awful domain and start a new life in America. Thus far she have collected a Grand Total of $0.75, so I must yet refrain from booking Passage to the New World, though the steam whistles of the mighty Leviathans at the nearby Docks and the cry of the Gulls tug at my Heart like a Vagabond at the strings of an empty Money-Purse. I bought her Water to cool her as she displays Jewellery and Fine Fabrics for the throngs of wealthy Industrialists and shopkeeepers who pass in their fine Carriages.

I have heard tell that America presents in its westward facing Aspect a vast, wild Frontier, populated by red-skinned Savages and gigantic Herds of wild Horses, Cattle, and Buffalo, is practically free for the taking, and he who would tame that Land and work it himself could make such a Life! For now, it is naught but a Dream, and cursing silently, and only to myself, I must return to my grimy, sweaty Existence, a Hephaestus of the Modern Age, subject to the Vile Exploitation of Messrs. MacGillicuddy, Keegan & Leicester, Proprietors, toiling incessantly away at the Black Seam. O Fortune! what I would not give for but your Brief Smile.

One comment

  1. My Good Man, your fair trepidation is over. I have in my hand a bottle of the finest elixir, manufactured to exacting proportions by the selfsame MacGillicuddy, Keegan & Leicester. One teaspoon dose, but every hour, for two or three months and you will find contentment in your lot.

    (end feeble attempt at period-piece spam).

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