|artist / occultist|
Wordspill: WeatherWordspill: Weather by saintartaud
Delacroix reclines on the divan and rolls the red wine around in his glass. He speaks, his voice low and sonorous, his syllables rich like jam:
Weather in this city is so dismal, and the dandy who would walk its streets has so few stylish options. Galoshes are cumbersome; they clash with a well cut suit and tie. A trenchcoat is classic, has good lines, but vinyl and oilcloth look so dreadfully cheap. I have no qualms with umbrellas, however. A fine bamboo or synthetic ebony handle looks so elegant in ones hand or over ones bared wrist.
I get by, of course. I persist. I have always done so and shall proceed to do so, even as the city grows wetter, and my own days dwindle. If you do not like the rain, go back to Outspace, I have always said. Take a year off and have your holiday on Mars. One can never escape the weather; believe me, Ive tried.