The summer of '84 might have been the best of times for a few people, the guy who lived in the bat cave for instance, or that weird troll-like fellow who lived under the bridge, but for the rest of us, the summer of the 'Rampaging Paintings' was the worst in recorded history, surpassing even the 'Balloon Explosion' of '56 and the 'Pineapple Incident' of '21.
It all began the day I exposed the Mayor's affair with the cook to about a dozen or so assorted bystanders, a carpenter, two electricians, a painter, three kids on bikes, a contractor, an apprentice Magician, two women walking their dogs, said Mayor's wife--and me.
I have to admit, the incident was my fault. Just as I raised the last brick into place, Susie Hyacinth walked by and I got distracted. Can you blame me? She's enough to distract any man with two eyes and a nose.
It was meant to be an auspicious occasion; a celebration. We were putting the finishing touches to the new library, and as the architect, I'd been asked to place the ceremonial last brick and say a few words. I'd rehearsed for a couple of days, so I had it all down pat. I opened with a joke, gave a brief history of the project, and lifted the stone.
As I placed it, I intended to say, "And this will be the perfect place for the mayor to hang out next time he fancies reading a book." Well, damned if that wasn't the exact moment Susie waddled past--face like a slapped arse and smell like a chicken shed. Who wouldn't be distracted? Any man might have slipped up and said, " . . . the perfect place for the mayor to hang out next time he fancies screwing the cook."
The rest of the day didn't go well, either.
Opening: Michele Acker.....Continuation: Anonymous