A QUICK STOP BY THE CATACOMBS

“It is a little dirty” the tour guide said. “And spoo-ooky.”

“They pile up the bones like a woodpile,” also said
the tour guide.

“SSSHHH!” said the tour guide. If that lady keeps talking to her children in Italian, no one will hear what the tour guide has to say.

“I have something important to say,” said the tour guide.

We found out that the bishop’s hearts went to St. Stephens, the entrails to St. Augustine’s.

“Eeennntrails” said the tour guide.

“Black Play-Gue” he said, like a real tour guide, lingering nicely.

His step was light and brisk as he walked past the bones stacked like wood and into the first catacomb.

Everybody likes the tour guide. Even the tour guide likes the tour guide.

The tour guide seemed to pop up out of nowhere at the second catacomb. It felt as though he said “Surprise!” but he didn’t. And if he waved as he passed the bones stacked like wood, nobody saw it–but if he didn’t, everybody did.

all artwork, except likenesses of Lyndon B. Johnson, by Crispy Flotilla ® 2006

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