Tour

"But the robots on the loose now and it isn't safe around here. You'll have to get your friends out of that building." I was at loose-ends then. I had driven the scooter. Then not-scooter drove me. The Gortian Not. I had aGorted the mission for the time being. It was Gonezilla not of this world. It was not-I-know to know-I-not. Know-I-Not met a couple of women, although how - no-idea. It seems a recollection of a crowded-line and if so, probably American Express, Rome. One was tallish, with my-Davidness, the whiles of a Helen body, red-hair, Irish freckle-face, pinkish-glow about-here. She was with a New-York Jewish woman, shorter but of fair-figure, black-hair, darker-complected, rapier-tongue and tourist-revolutionary. When she found-out I read Newsweek to keep-abreast, she called it a formulaic propaganda, short-sheet fabricataclysm. I was taken a-back. She was sharp-of-wit and half-antagonistic to everyone.

The auburn-orange hallo-Helen was tall, of my-love kind of body, shoulder-length hair, good looking, of sweet temperament, and was as quiet and soft-spoken as her snarky companion was precocious. She was my radiance, my-heater and I was so frigid, just having spent how many months out in the cold. More-so she was laid-back languorous and languid, slow as Molasses but smooth, unperturbed by the turbulent swirling-swelter beyond. An 'I'll be along in a minute', temperament of calm radiant melt-mind even-song. I was always attracted to that, only I preferred height-weight-proportion, oh-say - like a woman's college volleyball spiker. And I was not big-enough. She needed proportionate love. Think she fell in-love with me. Did I or did-I not - know ? It was un-proportionate.

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