Shoes matching each other this time but still untied, Oscar shuffled down the street. Staring through the scorching black pavement toward China, he kicked a pebble that was beginning to resemble, if he looked closely, Venus de Milo. The naked one, with both arms, standing demurely in a big oyster shell by the sea. But now Oscar senses she’s wearing a slippery, seductive shift of vanilla oil, his favorite. The perfume’s lusty smack of ice-creamy bean oil and sweet suggestion snaps the waistband of his brain’s jockeys with a giggle.
oscar’s eleventh chapter: tumbling toward happiness.
Posted on by hey, that tickles
Published by hey, that tickles
blowing bubbles of giggling somethingness and why-not-itude, a creative laxative, a provocateur of visual burps and farts (ie: until the end of 2019 as design department head at the creative circus, and frequent side-hustley designer of brandy designy stuff) – but also my every-other-time-o'-day approach. hopefully this stuff is easily sharable, lots funner than having to read a lot, and not a big investment of time. i hope you enjoy. View all posts by hey, that tickles
2 thoughts on “oscar’s eleventh chapter: tumbling toward happiness.”
Awww, this is fun. I knew y’all (i.e. men) had elastic waistbands in your brains.
The idea of “tumbling toward happiness” probably captures what happens as well as (or better than) any other description: We can’t go out and order a measure of happiness. It happens, while we’re busy bumbling along, thinking about something else, living life as well as we can.