Spoons Everywhere

I had some stories in my head today, several, and I wanted to tell them to people. So I put on my trench coat, filled it's pockets with spoons, styled my hair and caught the nearest bus. I wasn't quite sure which story I wanted to tell first so I thought I'd tell a bit of one, then a bit of another, then a bit of another and then some more of the one I started with, and so on. The stories were all just so great they had to be told much like a cubist would paint.

I sat next to a young woman who carried a revolver in her hand bag. She didn't like my stories, I could tell be the way she reached for it. Was it my breath? My changes in inflection? The problems I had controlling the tone of my voice? Was the gun fake? Possibly, but I was in no mood for a gamble. I didn't want to add that to my list of stories.

But, I'm no quitter. My stories had to be told! So I begun on the man sitting across the aisle from me. Since he was wearing a cap, and blue jeans, I thought he might enjoy the story of overpriced bus fares and the one about my losing millions. He quickly left and kicked me a little as he did. I would have kept on with the tellings to other people, everywhere, but just then the bus hit a bump, and all my spoons went flying. Spoons everywhere. Before I rushed to pick them up, I took the time to wear a look of petrified horror.