Business as usual
by Franck Vanhee
I may have some left in the back, said the woman in the wordshop, useless relics, as they will never be seoed.
I gazed like a dog at a sick cow.
Selling e-words obsession, she said. She wobbled to the back and back.
And put a rather crippled word on the counter. I saw it had been dead for years. You better bury this one in your greenhouse, she said, ultrarevolutionary has just enough vowels to grow vegetables. I-I g-g-g-grow toma-ma-matoes, I stuttered. Grand, she said. No, I lisped, ch-ch-cherry to-to-ma-matoes.
She blobbed back to the back of the shop and back. Then I recommend integrity, she said, it is known that it makes cherry tomatoes blush, that ‘ll be seven doaldr.
As I had no doaldrs on me I bartered the i-word for my pants. Which, this time of year, seemed a fair deal.