Henri said that the sound of the wooden rowing boats landing on the echoing dockland one after another was the sound of The Big Swinger rapping his fictitious knuckles against the locked door of The Real.
Furious Winston said it was the copper boot-steps of a lucrative opportunity.
Pete the Gamble thought of the hollow poplar roll of dice – of risk and tragedy and a clumsy gambler’s ecstasy.
Archie Orchestra heard the metronome swinging and ticking the introductory beat to an entire, unknown opera, and he squirmed a little at the idea, feeling as though he was an actor expected to perform to a full-house without knowing any of his lines.
Shaven Cromwell remembered that when he was a boy he had seen flocks of coconuts dropping from the sky, cracking open on the craggy rock-pools at the edge of a wordless ocean. The coffin-knock of their husks splitting on the naked rocks. The delirious cries of the sea-birds responsible, so far above that they dropped their fruits from the borders of space and swooped down after as though they were chasing meteorites.
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