The Fantastic Inspector Cromwell

....Upon hearing the phrase , Cromwell had a bright gas, an epiphany. His eyes rolled up into his head and his mouth lay agape, twitching in spurts. “ By Jove” he blurted out to a rather stunned looking paper-boy standing to his left foot side. Cromwell came to from his bewitchment and threw a nine-pence at the boy to pay for the paper which had just triggered faint recollections of that dark night so long ago.... Coincidentally since Inspector Cromwell was SOO preoccupied with his murder case at hand that he completely over-shot the boy and sent the coin sailing into the edge of the cobblestone streets where the gutter-water carried it away at a good clip -----along a rolling river of brown downpour runoff ( alas, mixed with the horse poo and daily rubbish from since we are obviously in some kind of quasi ‘ historical detective fiction’ category and Germs and indoor plumbing presumably hadn’t been invented or necessitated to be understood as in case in point a young paper boy would not know that diving headlong or feet long I suppose into a bunch of filth would have adverse consequences if not immediately but at which point the microscopic Germs would retaliate for such an error), which the young paper by dashed after for 17 blocks, occasionally throwing his young nubile bodice into the scum at opportune moments and coming up for breath with arm clutched upward for inspection, but only grabbing a cow-chip instead or bloodstained panty hose or some equally believable gem of your imagining{( sic) or is it Sick?}. And so finally, bleary and exhausted the young paperboy pauses nary a tic to catch his breath when a reckless stagecoach full of drunk dandies rolls right over the young man without stopping. The 11 yr ole timey Paperboy, now wet, dirty, and tired, also had to deal with the fact that his right leg/arm are severed completely by the wagon wheels . Presumably the wagon wheel having been modified to blasphemous levels by the pink-slip-pimped -up-bitching-with electric neon strobe lights and a bitching system to thump dat’ Lil Dick suck rap music ( sic) of the stagecoach, wagon, buggy, shitty shitty bang bang thing. Thus being in serious pain and bleeding and goodness knows what else with the poo and bloody panties and etc... - the ever faithful Paper boy fastened his newspaper satchel to his bod by clutching the green leather strap with his molars tightly . With sheer grit, determination, and steadfastness this young horribly maimed man, dragged himself 19 blocks through cold rainy puddles of liquid shit and garbage cascading down his face and body as he crab walked laterally up the hill he had just run down. Slowly reaching his right arm out he would grasp the ground and claw at the ground to drag himself farther along whilst sliding the right leg over and shimmying his body along. He literally resembled a crab, albeit one who had ripped his skin to shreds shimmying up the shit hill over the gritty nitty shitty pavement with shit on it ( Sic). Legend has it that it took the boy 3 days to reach the top where his employers office was. Knowing the newspaper vendor was a fair and honest man, the boy was relieved to be at safety finally. He had been bitten by 3 dogs and attacked by 2 groups of elderly ladies who thought he was a retarded crab leprechaun and robbed him looking for hidden treasure of the retarded crab leprechaun sort( sic). At the office the boy dragged himself in- the owner was not in so he prepared some tea and crumpets for himself in the parlor . He readied himself snug with a warm blanket by a rich fireplace in a dark wooden room lit by two candles- reading the latest installment of Dickens in ‘ the Times’. Sitting splendid now in his plush red velvet reading chair directly in front of the fireplace and elaborate granite mantle- removing a golden flask full of aged Brandy from a black velvet embroidered bottle guard. Pouring a ample snifter into the tumbler sitting on the rich Mahogany writing table – he quaffs –swallowing daintily with a ample cider licorice bit to sooth his spirits. Tired now he begins to murmur to himself “ yib yib yib. Doo-Dee-Doo, Laa-Dii-Dahh. Olalla- shepherds pie-me o’ my- Belgian wood- kina good - Belgda goovvian wood kinda good, everybody now !le deadeaaea Belgian wood, kinda good…….” He falls asleep before the fire. Dreaming of….Candy apple red sky in the wide open Scotland countryside. Pure green hills, but almost orange in this intense light. A floating triangular banner in the wind made of silk, a woman’s face rapidly juxtaposed over the sky- then a mushroom with a giant eye in horrible pea green lime sock 70s wallpaper vibe- then the woman with hair like Jaclyn Kennedys but a much more apple contour to her face which is somehow reminiscent of rust-and a ampersand ( sic). Soooo, uh, she’s smiling ,dancing , in the Scotland red zone land . Dancing in wide circles with white sheets, like togas flailing about in fractal like directions . Zooming in and forming the clear crystal eye to beam me the cold ice into the wasteland. I remember screaming and a piercing black envelope stretches across a super-nova in reverse- conquering all , I mean all, the circle smaller and smaller until it’s only a blue radish sitting under a dim aqua blue light bulb in a pure white stucco room. You I me, him , gets dizzy and you roll on the side through the corridors and circle in a maze seeing bright orange peels and darkness enveloping cold water and suddenly you realize you’re in the pool sleeping….(Sic)