September 18, 2013

The marmalade man went door to door in his dark clothing. He carried his fired clay pot of marmalade hanging from his neck by a chain. A silver ladle he clutched in his left hand. At each door he rapped twice sharply. When he did so, a thin panel slid open and out was thrust a hand, palm up, holding a toasted crumpet. One ladle of marmalade he carefully spilled onto the muffin. Then he backed away with a bow, and the panel snapped shut. His pot empty, his route completed, the marmalade man thanked his lucky star, returned home, bathed, shaved, and locked himself in his closet until the next morning’s delivery of marmalade set him off once again on his daily routine.

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