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On a certain Satuday in the year of 200-, a petty official named Eldridge R. from the town of M- awoke to find that his lips were chapped. He rose and searched for some lip balm. Finding none, he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. There was nothing useful, so he used olive oil. He dabbed it on a square piece of green cloth that he reserved for such moments, then took pains to gloss his cracked and swollen lips.
The doorbell rang. Eldridge went to the door and opened it. Before him stood a man in a seersucker suit.
"I've come to claim my fortune," the man in the seersucker suit began. "Twelve years ago I was living in the Mediterranean with a prince by the name of S. S. was a well know figure in the art world at the time, having paid the highest price ever for a piece of ice sculpture. The work had been crafted by a mysterious man who lived in a small hut on the far end of the island. There had been stories for years about the sculptor and a special skill he had to reproduce the most nuanced countenance. But what was especially strange about the sculpture purchased by Prince S. was that nobody had ever seen it. Through special arrangement by the artist and the auction house, an auction was arranged which, through its rigorous and lengthy set of rules, disallowed not only sight of the object, but any description of it whatsoever except that it was carved from ice.
"Needless to say the fucker melted before anyone saw it. Now I know you are the artist, Eldridge, so cough up the cash."
Eldridge coughed and a wad of bills flew out of his mouth (not before tearing his terribly chapped lips).
"Ouch," said Eldridge R.
The man in the seersucker suit picked up the money and went on his way, though the image of S’s cracked and swollen lips would haunt him until the end of his days.
Date Written: March 05, 2000
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 3.875