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in which Lindir meets the homeless
I shall not preface this story with a tale of wandering. But suffice to know I do often go to Central Park and sit about under the bows of the trees with harp in hand. The others there are never quite so friendly once I begin to strum along with the harp. I get quite a few people dropping coins and paper money at me though, and I haven't a clue what any of that's about.
But anyway, that isn't the key point of this tale in Central Park. I was in Central Park wandering about--I said I would not preface with wandering and so I did not--with a bit of pizza in hand. Have you eaten pizza? It's quite disgusting but oddly addicting in the worst of ways. The feel it leaves in my mouth is rotten, like swallowing candle wax. Ask me not how I know of candle wax; I'll not answer, heathens.
Anyway - it was quite cold by the time I'd come around to a stop. My favorite tree was occupied by a woman in shabby clothing. Naturally she's a wanderer such as myself and so I think to entertain her as all guests do. She was, after all, occupying my space and I thought I could share.
So I hopped over to her and settled down with harp in hand, having previously consumed the last chunk of pizza ferociously before the birds could hope to steal it again, and struck up a song. And lo and behold! The woman jerks into a sitting position and stares at me with the most bug-eyed expression I have ever seen the Edain make--it's quite an ugly expression--and begins to babble about things I don't have the mind to repeat. Before I could quite escape she touches me. And this would not normally be a problem, I assure you.
Except for her hands.
Valar, Eru! You have no idea of the state of that woman's hands. I died a little inside. My fëa shall never burn so bright again. They were horrid and my heart went frigid with cold. Rather like cold pizza in a park.
I ran away like a child. I am a coward, and I am okay with this.
And so the moral of the story; watch out for hags in the park. They may try to touch you.
But anyway, that isn't the key point of this tale in Central Park. I was in Central Park wandering about--I said I would not preface with wandering and so I did not--with a bit of pizza in hand. Have you eaten pizza? It's quite disgusting but oddly addicting in the worst of ways. The feel it leaves in my mouth is rotten, like swallowing candle wax. Ask me not how I know of candle wax; I'll not answer, heathens.
Anyway - it was quite cold by the time I'd come around to a stop. My favorite tree was occupied by a woman in shabby clothing. Naturally she's a wanderer such as myself and so I think to entertain her as all guests do. She was, after all, occupying my space and I thought I could share.
So I hopped over to her and settled down with harp in hand, having previously consumed the last chunk of pizza ferociously before the birds could hope to steal it again, and struck up a song. And lo and behold! The woman jerks into a sitting position and stares at me with the most bug-eyed expression I have ever seen the Edain make--it's quite an ugly expression--and begins to babble about things I don't have the mind to repeat. Before I could quite escape she touches me. And this would not normally be a problem, I assure you.
Except for her hands.
Valar, Eru! You have no idea of the state of that woman's hands. I died a little inside. My fëa shall never burn so bright again. They were horrid and my heart went frigid with cold. Rather like cold pizza in a park.
I ran away like a child. I am a coward, and I am okay with this.
And so the moral of the story; watch out for hags in the park. They may try to touch you.