Calling all SI writers:
Continue this story if you dare, you need not be a great writer, in fact you can be as abysmal as you like. BTW, the story is dedicated to Ms. RambiPenni, because it was her idea (and if you don't like it blame her not me.)
Poetry by Numbers
Mr. Richardson was not amused by the graffiti that kept appearing on the low brick wall that surrounded his immaculate and carefully tended lawn. It was an affront to both his sense of decorum and his dog Bilbo's abilities as a watchdog. Now basset hounds do not normally leap to mind when one thinks of the word watch dog, but that had never stopped Frank Richardson in believing that Bilbo, when called upon, would measure up. This was, alas, not the case. The police, not terribly concerned about the graffiti, since it was not gang related, were not devoting any resources to the discovery of the perpetrator. And Frank was stuck cleaning off his wall every Sunday morning after someone, at sometime during the night, managed to spray his white bricks with yet another odd snippet of poetry. |
