Gene, I hope you don't mind my responding to your poem.
Now, I thought when reading it, his trip was to Vegas, hence the hanging dice. Then I read chintzy, well, there's nothing chintzy in Vegas, so it couldn't be. I remember those furry dice hanging from the rearview mirror, it must have been in the countryside, rural people still think they are in vogue.
A rustic cabin, with uneven wooden floors, old musty, mildewed books on rough shelves. Old doilies made by knotted, gnarled hands of old country women.
Fire-breathing dragons? You got me there, could it be a chimney?
Oh well, it was fun, trying to figure it out, probably missed by a country mile.
Gene, the imagery is wonderful!
gyp |
