||[Aug. 16th, 2005|12:22 am]
So there's this ukulele...
Yes. Oh, just buy the damn thing. It's a losing battle, and you know it.
No. Jesus, how many ukuleles do you need? Seriously. No, seriously.
Sorry, Pops (my ukulele teacher and all-around bad-ass) got back to me and had this to say:
" Good deal! Get that sucker "
So I did.
Man, writing is hard. I'm totally out of practice. Here's 277 words.
Jill sighed, and the breath that flowed through her lips was white and thick in the arctic air. She pulled her borrowed furs a little tighter, but it didn’t do much to keep the cold out.
Dripping with disapproval, she turned to Pitaq. “The igloo is too white.”
“Too white? What else is there?”
Pitaq was comfortable in his cloak of sealskin, in the way that only a man who had stalked, hunted, killed, skinned, and stitched the seals himself can be. If only Pitaq was as comfortable with his present company, or her plan.
“For starters, Peter, there’s red. Something dark and rich, I think. Something that says opulence and splendor without being as over the top as gold would be. Ideally, that red would be in neon, and it would glow brilliantly at night, but something tells me that might not be a possibility at first.” As she spoke, she brushed away some bit of imaginary filth off of her skins.
Pitaq took a moment, as it was not his way to speak in anger. He thought of his children, Firma and Ata. Only 6 and 8, many paths still lay open before them, most of them bleak. He thought of his own path, so close to trail’s end. Each year was a little leaner than the last, a little less worth living. A casino, at least, would earn his children a few more paths to choose from.
He set his rage aside to cool in the snow around him. He took a breath.
“Red. Yes, it could be done.”
“Excellent, Peter. Excellent. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, as to the penguins…”