Gloomy Folks of Gloomsbale


‘Eh, Henry! Is that you?’

‘Of course, it is, Charlie. Who else would it be?’

‘I thought so.’

‘You… What? What’s there to think about? Isn’t it obvious? Now tell me. How long have you been watching me?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘No, try me. I’m all ears.’

People argue for no reason at all. Many times, they kill one another over a jar of pickle. Now, who would be such a bright folk? Negativity all around. I reach for my pocket and light a joint. I see a girl or two and try to make a point.

This little town of ours offers a lot to the folks. We receive everything in the community but folks complain the heck out of everything. This is bad. That is sad. I tell you what it is all about. It’s them, the folks. Yes, that’s right. They make a fuss when there’s none to be made. It’s just the way they are conditioned. Babies are born, they are cute and all. But they are nurtured in a way, they turn out to be just another idiot in a long line of their heritage. Their great-grandparents were baulkers, and it shoots down from there. I wouldn’t go higher up the chain. No one really knows the facts of such times. Folks are hardly reliable. They stare you down and make hissing sounds. My neighbor makes such loud grunting sounds that my children look at him in wonder if he’s a pig inheriting the body of a man. I tell them it’s the breathing. He’s breathing through his mouth with a bit of exaggeration. My children start mimicking. I smack them good with a broom. And then, my wife smacks me later at night.


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