Shaggy Dog Story

"Better keep it short," advised Alaspor.

"I'll do my best," I said.

The lights weren't working and a traffic clown stepped into the street to take control. Our taxi pulled up sharply. The clown honked his horn impatiently for the driver to continue, then doffed his bright red wig and made a mocking bow as we passed.

"It's getting longer all the time," I complained. "Every word I write just compounds the problem. Who's in control here?"

"Jesus is," Alaspor said piously. "He wants you for a sunbeam."

"He never said anything to me about it."

"Well he wouldn't, would he? It's not his way."

"Why would he have told you?"

"I think he likes me. He's always confiding in me. Gets a bit embarrassing at times."

A street restaurant opened ahead of us. The taxi stopped again. The waiters ignored us. One of the customers complained loudly about his bill. The waiter examined it minutely, pretending he could read. Moments later the restaurant went bankrupt and we were able to move on.

"Did anybody ever tell you?" Alaspor asked.

"Tell me what? That I have lovely eyes? That my flies are undone?"

"Just things in general. The world's tallest buildings, for example. Did anybody ever tell you those?"

"Not that I can recall." I thought for a moment. "Somebody once told me the capital of Paraguay. It began with a letter of the alphabet as I recall. Places like that only exist so that people can have capital cities to memorise. And flags," I added.

"Those were the days," he said absently, absorbed in the sights of the city.

The taxi had stopped yet again. I couldn't see what was causing the delay so assumed it was something invisible. The taxi driver screamed.

"Just for atmosphere," he said when he'd finished.

"I rather liked it," I lied.

Alaspor was trembling, his hands clasped over his ears. "I'm not enjoying this any more," he sobbed. "I want to go home. Can't you delete that last bit?"

"I think it's part of the story now." I tried the delete key but it just buzzed at me. "Would you like me to write you some ice cream?"

Alaspor opened the door and stepped out of the taxi in front of an oncoming steamroller. He was a much more interesting shape once it had passed.

I stepped out of the taxi too, just as a policeman arrived at the scene. "Ah, you must be Horatio," I surmised.

"Well strike me pink and sell me for ninepence, sir, how on earth did you know that?"

"That's Mr. Iorek," I said, indicating the stain on the road. "Alaspor Iorek. I knew him, Horatio."