The fortress town was impregnable from the outside, but its filthy, serpentine alleys were perfused by grifters, thugs, and all manner of degenerates, corrupting it from the inside out.
His insouciance toward the living and dying of others was made clear as he uttered his demotic, if not discursive warning, "Pardner, you might just wanna rethink what yer fixin' to do with that there ree-volver a' your'n, 'cuz mines got a hair trigger an' I got a itchy trigger finger."
Although, as son of the Irish embassador, he enjoyed the full immunity of extraterritoriality, he still diligently inspected his luggage before every trip home, ensuring that the sundry items of drug paraphernalia he collected would not be discovered by overeager and undertrained TSA officers, especially his dudeen, which carried traceable amounts of marijuana resin (which he preferred to alcohol because it caused no katzenjammer).
The victim, her body furled in the Belarusian flag, her head enshrined in an antique wooden tabernacle carved with an eight-ended cross, was the first of many to fall prey to the voracious appetite of the "Diplomat Dicer", a serial killer who would enjoy the protections of extraterritoriality so long as his victims continued to be found only in the United States.
Shutting the door gingerly against the apathy of her flatmates who were zombied out in front of a reality TV show, allowing the bevel to slide past the strike plate with a barely audible click, she praised herself for her unflappability, piggybacking this self-praise with other self-satisfied feelings of her accomplishments, especially in the field of voter registration in which her tireless suffragist efforts brought the poor, the disabled, and the underprivileged to the polls every voting day.
With the normothermic reserve of a monk, the haberdasher gazed calmly down the abandoned street, a palimpsest of greasy-sheened cobblestones, his establishment a relict of a time when gentlemen flocked to this neighborhood to procure their accouterments, and he silently awaited the next customer, not at all sure if he would ever arrive.
The mess of yolks, albumen, and shells on the ground--whole eggs purchased only minutes before from a farm stand at the rialto--presented her with an exigent polylemma in having to select the epithet of which her situation was most meritorious: fuck, shit, cunt, or begorra.
If the fist of the pugilist is homologous with the chef's knive, so too is the tireless training the boxer endures to perfect his knockout punch with the way the chef beavers away to concoct his ambrosial zakuskas.
Whipsawed by the salami tactics the right employed to erode entitlements, and the manifestos of the left seeking ruling class dissolution, the leader found a little humor in recalling his childhood mondegreen of a familiar prayer, "deliver us from the eagle."
Quadrivial Quandary (QQ) is owned and operated by Rudi Seitz.
Sentences submitted to QQ are the property of their authors. See our page on Copyright Information for details.
Dictionary definitions are the property of their respective sources, presented here via public RSS feeds or otherwise with permission.
All other material is copyright 2015 by Rudi Seitz, all rights reserved.
Use of this site is governed by our terms of service.
Contact: rudi at quadrivialquandary dot com.