Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
From: (Lisa Chabot)
Subject: time is
Message-ID: <>
Summary: an obscure pundit
Keywords: jib'rish
Organization: VMl
Date: Tue, 2 Dec 1997 06:15:38 GMT
Lines: 40

He'd decided it was time for a change.  So he threw a party, and 
invited all his friends, everyone he knew.  

The party was interesting enough, just people talking, and eating;
some sort of music, not too loud, on the stereo.  Still, something
about the atmosphere...there was something different about his
apartment, but no one could quite put it into words.

People arrived; people left; people arrived; people left.  As each
one left, he would thank them warmly for coming, and saying, "I wanted
you to have this," pass them a few pages of paper, and smile into
their eyes.

Downstairs, outside, on the street, I looked at mine.  Thirty different
pages, all different sizes, from thirty different books.  I got "Some 
chapters back, Bulkington was spoken of...", but at least I also got 
"She could think only of her letter."  And "The weariest nights, the 
longest days, sooner or later must perforce come to an end" too, and
some other things I can't remember.

So that was what was different about his place: he taken all his books
apart and given them  away, page by page.

I put them in an envelope.  In the morning they had turned into small

Everyone's had.  Although Catherine claimed hers were sequins.  But she
was never that good with words.

.                                                        Hip hip hoo ray.
.                                                        Hip hip hoo ray.
.                                                        Hip hip hoo ray.

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Me and my trenchant mouth.                        --Homer Simpson