Nine and one touch on his cake but a ray of light ruins the illusion. There is no expiry date on wanting to experience life on your tippy toes, this informs his thinking when the crowd chants ‘make a wish’.
Marty’s sense of whimsy saw the gnomes clustered conspiratorially outside Dempsey’s. The historical society met every Tuesday at 8.30pm. A guest speaker had been arranged and the turnout had reflected it. It was most unfortunate when what was later referred to as “punk” music started blaring. No one could figure out how to stem the lyrical onslaught and the speaker was escorted from the stage as if a horde of corrupt youth were likely to storm the building at any second.
Murphy recounted to Marty how the gnomes had been modified to suit their “sinister” agenda. When Marty interjected to ask what he believed their agenda may be, Murphy said without pausing, “obviously to terrify the living daylights out of us.” Two gnomes had tattoos across their upper abdomens while others had countenances that would “chill you to the bone.” The tattoos which appeared to have been stencilled on were particularly concerning. Murphy had convinced himself that they were some kind of gang insignia. Flaherty had taken polaroids and sent them to headquarters for examination.
Marty likes to saunter midmorning. Murphy is bustling towards him like a three-legged kitten fleeing an affray, words spilling noiselessly from his lips. Marty’s heart somersaults, ecstatic to be granted one more day of mischief-making.
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