Mr. Shippen, Mr. Peters, Mr. Ewing, Mr. Hutton, took the stairs, took a car, took a boat, took a turn, raised the stakes, raised the roof, raised the bar, raised the curtain, watched the clock, watched the wheels, watched the show, watched the throne, pulled up stakes, pulled up pants, pulled up limping, pulled up to the bumper. Paths that had diverged converged again. They were all in the same place and happy to see one another. They knocked on the door. They were greeted, all of them by name, by a woman who did not give her own. She went high-heeled down the hall to a room packed chockablock with other men. She motioned to Shippen, Peters, Ewing, and Hutton. They started down the hall, slowly, exhaustion overtaking them. “All these men are dead,” the woman shouted. The news deterred no one.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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