On our way to a restaurant called L’oignon, we passed a thin tall man with a top hat on. He swung his cane and whistled a tune, and carried a bag of stars and moon. He turned our way and clapped his hands and through red teeth he smiled and said, ‘Fortune lies ahead for those prepared but darkness waits for everyone else.’ He reached into his bag and polished the moon and tossed it to the sky. The stars pursued but faded away as northerly winds came blowing from the south. The man with a top hat on bid us adieu as he grabbed onto the swinging tail of the north-bound northerly winds. His smile was a mournful blue, his cane has snapped in two, and cluelessness has arrested the man with a top hat on.

My partner squealed in delight as the man with a top hat on took flight. She jumped and clapped her hands and clicked her heels and said, ‘Oh my, what marvel might our night contain if fortune should upon as smile.’ She waved goodbye and sighed as the windblown man vanished from sight. Then she took my hand and danced in circles round my spinning head, strumming heart and soul, and making merry to unfold. Onward then we went, skipping up and down and clicking heels, whistling happy tickled tunes, on our way to a restaurant called L’oignon.

A fat short man with a flat cap on with a mandolin grin showed us in to the restaurant called L’oignon. Busboys bustled and patrons sang along to the melody rendered by the lazy-eyed doe up on the stage. She looked my way and blew a sultry kiss and sang a line or three just for me. Behind the curtains at the back a long and yellow tail with a tufted end swished in tune to the tempo of the beat. The fat short man with a flat cap on and a mandolin grin showed us to our seats. The chairs were high and the table was low, so we sat with our arses pointed to the chandeliers. A drunken patron pranced upon a laden table and commenced to tap his feet to his own beat. The people all around him cheered and clapped and sang a jolty jingle and a man and lady rose and they partook. The lazy-eyed doe up on the stage in fury stomped her feet and marched away with an air of a wannabe bourgeoisie. A sudden roar and a short sharp bleat for a moment delayed the catchy refrain. Then on they sang and on they danced.

A bearded busty busboy sporting a fishnet top, camo slacks, and a neat bowtie arrived with stacks of trays and plates upon his cephalopodic hands. He smiled a wistful smile and signed, ‘Enjoy your meal.’ Artichoke and escargot filled up a plate, while buttered pickled apples and deep-fried Rocky Mountain oysters filled another. My partner’s sheer delight secreted rainbows from her eyes and seasoned all that laid beneath her nose. We shoved them in and threw them up and shoved them in again as was the custom there. We rinsed out mouth with mulberry wine and drank our fill of tobacco lime, and then we teetered to the dance floor and mamboed to the trombone. Trapeze artists fell from above and fire eaters choked on water while the juggler spilled his drink and the tightrope walker lost her balance. Lady Chaos mooned the crowd and Mister Order pissed about. Angles soul kissed demons, sinners tossed saints. Satan blushed and shied away and God uttered a prayer. Cacophony rises, everything in disarray. Entropy is to arrive, but a final act to seal it all.

I found myself on stage, punctured by the gaze of the one in whose domain I have long since been chained. The brilliancy of my soliloquy could pause this entropy, but my mouth was sewn shut and my hands were cuffed tight. My pants were down around my ankles and my feet were shackled. So, I hopped around and jingled my chains, and a cabbage hit my head. The stitches on my lips dissolved and my hands and feet were free. My partner said, ‘You did you best, and that’s enough.’ She put an arm around my shoulder and we set out, ages older.

We left the restaurant called L’oignon and down the small-town street we strolled. Neither she nor I conversed, but in our minds we mused about the funny goings on.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s