Hey hey, everybody. Style No. 26 here for you, in case the first twenty-five didn’t leave you sated 🙂
Is it your first time here? Click to find out what’s going on, or check out the original anecdote in the margin. Happy reading.
There was a boy, a young boy dressed in a t-shirt, which was orange (the t-shirt). This young boy in an orange t-shirt was thinking. At the same time as he was thinking, and thinking deeply, this young boy dressed in an orange t-shirt blew a small wind instrument. The small wind instrument he blew, this young deep-thinking, orange t-shirt sporting boy, was a whistle.
His best friend had his arm wrapped around him, this young, orange, thinking, whistling boy. This arm was wrapped around him — the young boy — in a best friend-like manner. He was, for his part, the best friend with his arm wrapped around the orange think-whistler, eyeing the crowd in the distance.
And then there was a grandmother, a nervous grandmother. She was passing by, this nervous grandmother, and had an object hidden under her hair garment. This object, well hidden as it was beneath the hair garment, which belonged naturally to the nervous grandmother, was secret.
While the young boy blowing his whistle, thinking deeply, and being orange was ensnared by the arm of his best friend who was at the same time eyeing the crowd in the distance, and equally while the unsettled, superannuated female was passing by with an object beneath her head shawl, an object which was hidden, at the same time as all of this there was a man behind them. This man was serious and looking a particular way. The particularity of that way — the way of the serious man behind them — was in its oppositeness, it being opposite to the way of the orange whistler-thinker and his best friend.