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Falling Pandas

Falling Panda

This is true story about longevity, chance encounters, and things gravitational. I was in a local pub a couple of weeks ago, Tuesday evening as I recall, standing at the bar waiting to purchase another pint of murky Thatcher’s traditional draft cider. It looks like something you might dredge from a polluted stream, or volcanic vent but tastes wonderful and sulphurous.

On a bar stool just a little way away from where I stood waiting, mug in hand, sat a young chap starring intently at the micro writing on the back label of a German beer bottle. Feeling rather jolly after my first pint, I remarked that he would go blind doing that. I nearly added something more but thought better of it .He said, he could read it and would I like to know what it said, and I said I’d rather not know because my sight was already bad enough thank you very much. Then to mine and everybody else’s astonishment in the bar, a large black and white Panda with one eye crashed through the ceiling and landed right on top of the earnest young man, killing the poor bugger outright, and scattering the contents of a myriad broken vitamin bottles and a carton of thousand year old Chinese eggs,  he had secreted about his person all over the floor. Somebody said he was an Alienist from New York on a fishing Holiday, but nobody was really sure.

The panda having seemingly sustained no injuries in the fall was out the pub door in the wink of an eye. An old lady chased after it but quickly returned to say it had entered the cardboard coffin shop next door and disappeared.

How’s it going?

This is true story about longevity, chance encounters, and things gravitational. I was in a local pub a couple of weeks ago, Tuesday evening as I recall, standing at the bar waiting to purchase another pint of murky Thatcher’s traditional draft cider.  It looks like something you might dredge from a polluted stream, or volcanic vent but tastes wonderful and sulphurous.

On a bar stool just a little way away from where I stood waiting, mug in hand, sat a young chap starring intently at the micro writing on the back label of a German beer bottle. Feeling rather jolly after my first pint, I remarked that he would go blind doing that. I nearly added something more but thought better of it .He said, he could read it and would I like to know what it said, and I said I’d rather not know because my sight was already bad enough thank you very much. Then to mine and everybody else’s astonishment in the bar, a large black and white Panda with one eye crashed through the ceiling and landed right on top of the earnest young man, killing the poor bugger outright, and scattering the contents of a myriad broken vitamin bottles and a carton of one thousand year old Chinese eggs, he had secreted about his person all over the floor. Somebody said he was an Alienist from New York   on a fishing Holiday, but nobody was really sure.

The panda having seemingly sustained no injuries in the fall was out the pub door in the wink of an eye. An old lady chased after it but quickly returned to say it had entered the cardboard coffin shop next door and disappeared.

From ‘The Broken Novel’ Ian Miller © 2008 All Rights Reserved

 

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