Another day I dozed off in a reclining chair in my house, and, upon waking up, found myself covered in dust along with the contiguous furniture. I stood up and saw that the mail, too, had piled up at the entrance. It was fate that had the meatman arrive at that very pivotal time.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re covered in dust,” was the meatman’s first reaction. I slowly told him what happened and waited for his insight.

He paused a moment. “I’d like to help you. Hmm, did you check your watch?” he offered.

4 o’clock.

“Did that help?” His eyebrows gave me a concerned frown.

I looked again. 11 o’clock.

It took all of my might to rip it off without taking my wrist with it, and, only after smacking it against the pavement and us both holding it down did we manage to squeeze out a confession.

“I am the oblong man-machine jelly docious! I will frum stair-stomping back for a cauldron to pop your children in!” it said this and then vanished under our concerted body weight. We looked at each other frightfully, as if to say, “What a hopeless omen!” and lifted ourselves up. We walked in silence towards the end of the street, him exclaiming “A mystery, this is” and I believe that’s where we said goodbye.