"My potato! You hobgoblin you ate my potato! And again with this nonsense. You claim to be, yet you are yet you aren't like the Devil himself is beside you. And you remember Nancy do you? Of course. I swear, I swear I will get you for this." Huff huff. Egressed back to the kitchen to nook into the refrigerator, digging for some God awful thing, leftovers.
A deep sigh upon Smith's furrowed brow as he bent upward. Yoga, yoga's the thing, thinking, rolled up his carpet to place upon the wall. Nancy, her smiling visage, her memory, what went wrong? It was a thousand things of course, the dream he had had the night before still fresh upon the tongue of his mind, the dream, she was sitting in a rocking chair knitting her usual habit, habit of the mind, the habit she had wept upon as her father passed but that was another story and Smith, sitting back upon the floor, fell slumping into a slump he had wished would go but never did, the eternal torment. Why, why oh Nancy, but she had been so ... immature? Was that the thing? She had wisdom, but not the wisdom of ages, deep wisdom he so craved as he rose.
To the kitchen to face his nemesis he walked, up the stairs from the basement, around the corner, brushing his hand across the parapet upon the arm of the stairs, tap tap, what to say,
"Hobgoblin? Thomas I was meditating. Have you no sensitivity? I try and I try and it's never enough for you. I'll buy you a potato, here's a pence and a half, and throw in a beer for it all."
Looking up from now eating a sandwich, Thomas grimaced. Then smiled. "Yes I'm sorry, it's just ... these days, I swear upon it, it's all I can do to stay afloat. You know how it is, times being what they are. Why the other day at work, I had to clean every dish. Damn hornswaggler of a bum, the dishwasher never came in. Every dish."
"That's tough. Friends?"
"Sure." And back to muzzling the sandwich. "Ermf getchoo a beer too, hfow we gro aut lather?" Words between bites, words between, between.
"Sure. I must leave, some shopping and such."
"Theeya."
