THE SEDONA HOUSE Oct 28, 2019 18:27:28 GMT
Post by rockefeller on Oct 28, 2019 18:27:28 GMT
After careful review of his esteemed mentor Boligard's Floor musings on this Sedona capital, and of said floorite's thoughtful acceptance slip to the VC who crafted it, Rocks, pursuant to considerable reflection and soul searching, has decided to give it a pass. No. Thank you. And you're welcome.
Ha! Kidding. Rocks, undeterred by the promise of a headache, went ahead and read it anyway. And, though it did seem to employ somewhat more words than necessary to tell the story of a man who procures an artifact for a customer wishing to gain entrance into the afterlife and be forever with his dead wife, they were competent words. So competent, in fact, that Rocks wonders if The Doommeister wasn't trying to ply his decision with reverse psychology. It is far from the worst dreck this particular gatekeeper has ostensibly read and sent up. The description is often astute, the lit-noir voice nigh impeccable. And Rocks has always been a sucker for reverse psychology.
So, despite the somewhat familiar story line, the materialist narrator's out-of-character agreement to join in the buyer's extra-contractual metaphysical foray into, predictably, hell, the language and characters would, but for a mildly irksome plot hole, warrant acceptance. Rocks couldn't figure out how the sleuth got paid. He was supposed to receive some expensive clock for his troubles, but then fled in haste the hellbound estate which subsequently disintegrated.
Rocks scratches his fetching weave which shifts only slightly on his scalp, and wonders how then the guy ever got remunerated. Like did he somehow grab the valuable boxed timepiece on his way out? Could he have had it on him the whole while? He must've extricated it earlier. He did use its proceeds to buy a sports car. Rocks purses his lips, readjusts his rug, then shakes off a Tourette's-like hemifacial spasm which makes it appear as if he's leaning towards no. But, and sadly, thus he falls. However, should his mightily horned and betesticled colleague topple, and perhaps rightfully so, otherwise, here's the only nit Rocks saw:
I grimaced, nevertheless torn open the envelope.