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Imaginary gas…
Imaginary gas… When I told her “ I was blocked and out of inspiration, I had run of of gas”, she just sat back and laughed at me. I turned red. I began looking for an escape route from the room. I thought it was a perfectly clear metaphor, but somewhere in the thought, she was amused. It made it most difficult, but, I so wanted to drop my britches and romance her, then and there, in the ways I had written about. It took a large, deep breath for me to compose myself and start my story over again. She was still smiling. Not the smile of an alluring vixen, but, the grin that lays just behind a big blustery laugh. In a moment or , well, it felt like an eternity, she stepped up to me, unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor. She threw her arms around shoulders and said “darling, I am your inspiration. She whispered in my ear as her slacks then drifted effortlessly to the floor and lay atop her blouse, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but (we) have promises to keep, and miles to go before (we) sleep, and miles to go before (we) sleep.”… Thanks to Robert Frost for the loan of his poetry Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening |
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a nice little tale for Saturday afternoon
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It was a perfectly clear metaphor. I probably would have replied with something about gas prices - with a smile. Opportunity may knock only once, but temptation bangs on the door forever!
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