Mayor Moran declared an 8:00 p.m. curfew that night
and ordered all remaining saloons closed until further notice.
The mayor in his wisdom, turning
From flames outside his window’s view,
Declared that—with this fire burning
The whole damn town by nail and screw—
The citizens should not be drinking
From wells of fire water (thinking
That booze might ease the pain of ash
Or make a fire line of cash
For workman’s wages turned to embers);
No, better call the night a day,
Let ashes cool and dreams be gay:
Of wet Novembers and Decembers
And sitting by the fireside,
Hot buttered rum, and Christmastide.
Love the contrasts here — June and Novembers/Decembers, burning and coolness, civic emergency and domestic holiday leisure, wildfire and hearth, drunkenness and gentle dreams, ‘fire water’ and hot buttered rum.
Thanks Angelico. But the real question is did I please The Push?
Да, полностью.
That was just great, Jonathan.
Don’t look now, but I think we’re about to turn the story into Moran’s – and Back’s.
Lickona, any help?
Man the backstory! Haul in the character development! Trim the tension! On! On! On!
Jonathan, this ought to have an Irish tune to turn it – PURE MUSIC!
Full speed ahead!
JOB
I know what Lickona can add to the project.
Yes, well, we all know how that turned out. Or didn’t turn out, as the case may be.
Just don’t let anything get to the backstop.
Potter’s got the mound; Webb’s on first; Quin’s on second; SEP’s got third and Tiff’s got shortstop. I’ll play left out and Angelico center, while Churchill plays right.
And of course Cube’s got DH when we play those AL fuckers.
JOB