|The Misfortunes of the Snowman of Worple Street.
Mad Scientess Jane Expat
The Snowman of Worple Street|
He came into existence a few days ago, and never has a lofty soul descended more rapidly or tragically. Oh yes, when he was first built, he stood tall and proud, and his pipe puffed with smoke, and the children rushed to pose with him while their delighted parents snapped photos and festooned him with additional adornments. His crisp pressed scarf caught the slightest breeze, and his fluffy exterior was as inviting as a freshly plumped pillow. A mere twenty-four hours later, he began to list. A dog dared to lift his leg to the wall behind him, though not on him...yet. A mischievous drunk stole his button eyes. The fingers that had been pointed in delight were now flicked with disdain.
I caught him here just after he'd tried to sell his top hat to a bunch of disinterested schoolkids. A sad end for a once noble creature.