Yup, It’s right out front, there with the aqualungs. Can’t miss it, unless you’re blind. Place is right next-door to C ‘n I Dog Biscuits, there on the Main drag.
‘Candy’, the ‘C’ of both ventures is something of a partnership-slut. Even has a deal going with me, the world’s least promising entrepreneur; “C AND Y Canes” I make ’em in my spare time, for the blind. ‘Choice select bamboo’… from the neighbors’ fences. Hey, they won’t notice one or two, right? I paint ’em gay colours; they’re for the blind, duh.
But why I’m writing this is cuz, like, I’m soooo tired of hearing that damn jingle; you heard it, unless your radio’s broke ‘n crushed under a rock since Christmas:
“Your ‘A’ source for your race-horse:/
Your “Ace-Horse Supply!”
Admittedly, it’s a three-fer play-on-words, but who’s even got a horse these days? My own carriage is like, horse-less. Ditto for all my equine-o-phobe neighbors. So far.
Those Ace people bought the lot up behind Candy’s, put in a track, a little faux barn, run their dumb ‘surrey with the fringe on top’ around all day and night. Candy’s seeing-eye dogs be goin’ nuts. Hounds probably jus’smell ’em. Or taste ’em, whatever. You know how it is with the surviving senses filling up a vacuum.
Plus, the place attracts a bad crowd. Beggars out front, pretending to be blind. Some of ’em even using my(!) canes as fake props.
“Give to the Venetian Blind!” one’s got scrawled on a sign. As if we don’t have enough charity-cases on our Home-Planet. ‘Of course they’re blind.’, I thought to myself. ‘800 degree sulphuric-acid at 50 times Earth’s atmospheric pressure kinda does that to a man.’ Rots his mind too. ‘
Case in point, the guy next to him: Sitting there at a table in mirror black wrap-arounds, Fisher-Price ‘A Child’s First Stethescope’ around his neck and a half(?) of a probably stolen pair of cheap binoculars in his hand. Sign says: ‘Over 50? When’s the last time you looked at Uranus?’ I just stood as silently as a ghost in front of him, thumbed my nose, made a bunch of other quietly-annoying faces, until he finally broke:
“Who you looking at, asshole?” He asks, doing what we used to call ‘fer-schnapping his-self.’ That’s when an imposter blows his own cover out of ‘ignerenz’, or whatever they call it these days.
Anyway, Candy called me before I got too ‘one-on-one’ with this repeating decimal of a fractional human:
“Let ’em alone, honey, they know not what they do.” she says.
“Great, neither do I.” I told her, walking back to my/our Cane-o-rama. She’s always so ‘biblical’, that girl. Prolly even wore a bib as a child. Yeah, mebbe that’s what happened. She be cute though.
So yeah Spring. The endive does look like seaweed , ya gotta admit. ‘Sargasso # 9’, that’s the Variety, if you wanna grow it yourself. Tastes better if you’re blind. So they say.