Win, Lose, Draw

        

photo montage by aleXander hirka - click on image to enlarge

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Win, Lose, Draw ~ by T. Remington

      It’s wet enough down here already. Jompley thought that cramming all his old Utne Readers into the drain pipe would do the trick, but when he wakes up to a mushy mattress again, he wants to cry. He doesn’t, of course, because it wouldn’t help. What will? He scrounges around in the back room.

      Until last Thursday, he hadn’t even realized that that there was a back room down here. It took that long to shake the blues. He still isn’t sure why Mister Evans arranged for him to be kept down here though he probably has his reasons. Overall, the place isn’t too bad or at least it wasn’t until that darned drain pipe let loose. He guesses he should just be happy that it seems to be rain water, but it does seem to be a bit much to tolerate.

      You might wonder why Jompley doesn’t simply tuck in and sleep in the back room, especially now that the mattress is a waterlogged loss. You may as well wonder why the sun rises in the east. Jomp’s a pretty steady character and Mister Evans counts on that.

      Mister Evans lounges on his 300 threads per square inch Egyptian cotton sheets and calculates how long it will take before Jompley finds the back room to the back room. He reaches over and pats Miss Priss on her fanny and asks her to get him another glass of sarsaparilla punch. She makes a face, but does as she’s told.

      The thump behind the headboard tells Mister Evans that the jig is up. He sighs and gets up off the bed just as the wall shakes and crumples in, covering the bed in plaster dust.

      “Am I too late?” Jomp’s wiping dust and plaster and whatnot off his face.

      “No, Jompley, if anything you’re a bit on the early side, but no matter.” Mister Evans hands Jompley his fine brocade dressing gown. “Priss will be happy.” And into the hole in the wall he goes while Jompley shakes out the dressing gown and tries it on for size. Perfect fit. A thought occurs and Jomp leans into the hole to shout down at Mister Evan’s retreating back.

      “Don’t worry too much about the security cameras. I don’t think anyone’s paying any attention to them.”

      He turns back in time to greet a smiling Miss Priss and to ask her to dump out that sweet, ridiculous punch and get him a beer.