Typewriters and Trilobites HTML version

Typewriters & Trilobites
By Someone B. Screwinwitcha
In the Beginning
The ice cream man, perusing the streets slowly
and looking all dapper in his starched and pressed
whites, drove down the block slowly, tweaking
his dark mustache while sniffing out children and
ringing his bell as the bright greens of springtime
waved in sweet jasmine filled air. Meanwhile, our
impressionable young Peter was playing in his
backyard, endlessly basking in sunshine,
breathing in heavily leaded automobile fumes
whilst counting the change he’d stolen from his
mother’s coin jar in the kitchen. The sound of the