🏰 The TW CITY 🏰
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Amazing!
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Xoobang,seeing that we were having difficulty reading our map,asked us where we wanted to go."The museums", purred BC.The kind Xoobang bade us to follow him for he knew a shortcut.We entered a warren of dark lanes shadowing his narrow back.Our nostrils were assaulted by the stench from open sewerage polluted watercourses and ditches from whence a tousled haired undersized youth,with long arms terminating in welted knuckles which grazed the ground,scurried towards us on short stubby legs.He carried a crude basket full of black blotched bananas.He was full of questions which gurgled up from his throat:He was Lolbananalol2,did we know of him?,Would we buy an apple from him?,Where were we from?,Where were we going?,Could he join us?,and so forth.Mud or shit caked his hair and our eyes swam from the smell that emanated from his person.
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Violently retching,Charlie,not wanting to hurt him,took a nearby broom to push him away,bidding him to be off.The youth persisted with his questions at which Charlie splintered the handle over the lad's head.Distracted by his dash to fetch the tumbling bananas and coin we had thrown after his bent form,we ordered our guide to get us to our destination.Soon the streets widened and we entered an open plaza where the museums were housed.
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Dang Vish. This brought tears to my eyes. 👀💧. In a good way! 😊
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😊
🙏
Please continue, I just ℒ੫ѵ it! -
I'm liking this tour
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Piping grew louder as we crossed the plaza.Sitting upon a stretched out filthy bedspread sat two who were unkempt.The one sitting,Zablo,had a wispy ginger beard and a hairline that started just over the ears.He wore flip flops that exposed dry,dirty soles which were cracked and a short tunic that just covered his crotch.Two heavy black tufty eyebrows dominated the other's (Mr.BigEgo$$) face with an ill-fitting wig which sagged over his forehead.He had a slight hump and potbelly that stretched the threadbare smock he wore.
Zab's eyes were rheumy and clever and he played on a tin-whistle that disappeared into a damp patch of his beard.Sweat beaded his flushed face as he played tune after tune on his tin-whistle without pause.The tune would pick up a pace as people passed by,with his eyes watching them grimly and warble a note of appreciation when money was thrown before his blue knobbly knees. -
His partner,whose elbows bent tight into his sides would flap intermittently as he gave the odd squeeze on his accordion,croaked rather than sang the tunes.We were treated to a warble and croak from the honest pair as we dropped coins and Mess even did a moonwalk such was his delight.
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Mr.Shush appeared and a mime took to aping his bow-legged canter across the square.On hearing the guffaws of laughter from a gathering crowd,he turned around and began to reprimand Miss Cris the mime artist.She took to making flippant gestures,and giddy gesticulations in comic parody at which he turned about heel and flew from the place.The cries of laughter from Gladiator soon dried up as Miss Cris took to feigning a macabre death waltz about his bemused person.
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Keep going!👍👍👍
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This is sweet I've been here for almost 4 years and never anything this great don't forget
Saelo2mylilfren!!!! -
I love your posts Vish. Fantastic how you pull these posts together
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Mr Big Cat wrote:
I love your posts Vish. Fantastic how you pull these posts together
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👏👏👏👏 more more 👏👏👏👏
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So good vish 👍👍
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👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏
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How the frick did I miss this?!
You rule Vish! ❤❤❤
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I just noticed my part. Thanks
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Our band,not wanting to be surprised by mercurial charges,selected the only terrace bar that displayed its prices amongst the many that vied for business around the plaza.It was run by the brothers Lars and Fantic who had previously led an active life on the roads and byroads of TW.My eye caught the flash of two curly tipped yellow slippers poking out from under a table.The owner of the slippers wore a long stained filigreed dark-blue cloak with a tall conical hat atop his head.His heavily lidded eyes watched us as we advanced and he lifted up on his hindquarters to signal us to share his pot of wine,head nodding fervently,rubbing thumb to forefinger rapidly.
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Agreeing to accept the invite,we approached but were waylaid by a local,named El Slayer,who warned us of a swindle,drawing our attention to a bucket and two paper cups and then to a group dividing up money from the side who,he pointed out,were shills.They were Rob DeNiro,ApacheCat,AlStal and Teranoid and friends with the Magic man.They discouraged any meddlers,and stifled any cries of injustice.We thanked El Slayer and seeing our about turn,Magic hooted and crowed in derision,shaking a long blue veined arm at our backs.
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Read the lot, loved the lot 👍
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We ambled off with no particular direction when we encountered Grim again.This time he stood upon two ten-foot stilts and was hunkering over,with trousers down,a moon faced chap who was noisily wolfing down some greasy chips and nuggets from a small plastic tray.Unbeknown to Peege,Grim,by gentle exertions,would let a nugget drop into the the 'magically' replenishing tray.
Rudge,casting a critical eye on the proceedings as he unbuckled his belt,asked to borrow the stilts as he had decided the lad needed a good helping of gravy.
Just beyond this playfulness,we saw a handful of brightly coloured pavilions and tents and the din of music reached our ears.It was an exhibition of sorts and we took ourselves there before they thought to serve dessert. -
People from all walks of life milled about in the area which was one of unrestrained colour,festooned with balloons and multi-coloured bunting.At a wicker booth,barring our entry,was Canine,a self appointed usher."5 don points to get in kind sirs",this said with a quick licking of lips.Muffin Button argued over the price of the fee as did another called "Sir" who sang a sad ballad about the lack of.Canine threw his head forward and launched a green-veiny globular spit which landed plum on Sir's waxen forehead.Seeing Canine screw his eyes tightly and attempt to hock up another,we quickly slipped by into the festive enclosure.
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Vendors promoted their goods and denounced others'.Tweek bawled persuasions in his futile efforts to sell wifflebats and spatulas at knock-down prices.Outlaw performed fire-breathing tricks over his smoked nuts on display.Working over a grill,doing a thriving business,was Gunstreet grrl who heckled other food traders as she made alpaca-burgers.Travdog sold tin fire-station sets but was constantly looking at his watch.Noting my curiosity,he explained that he had a fight to attend to and didn't wish to miss it.
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Turf🐑Warrior trundled a barrow piled high with cream filled finger-sponge cakes uncaring or oblivious to the fact that they were long out of date.We chanced upon Macas who walked back upright,and head thrust forward.We greeted him and made small talk at which he drew our attention to a glass vessel with a spigot under his arm.Inside was the scrunched-up head of Pasta kid preserved in pickle.He was searching for a party of NWR revellers who had misplaced the hideous thing amongst Queen Nicole's prizewinning fruits.
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Awesome read Vish
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Anthor great work!
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A crowd elbowed and pushed one another to catch a glimpse of what transpired in the pavilion of IcepickOrtega.He had set up a glass topped sandpit upon an oversized gurney.Here he had placed different insects and colonies of ants which he had affixed different coloured adhesives onto their thoraxes and glued on toothpicks or "jousting sticks" ,if you will, to their heads.Mounds had been artificially created at the four corners of the display.Chopped and diced fruit had been placed in the centre.Squibs were detonated at regular intervals,emitting puffs of smoke across the 'battlefield'.Miniature clashes,deeds of derring-do,and struggles were witnessed as files of ants fought for dominance.Peppering the field were the empty heads of carabids,shiny bits of chitin and a multitude of jointed legs.
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A triangular headed praying mantis (black sticker) on a twig snatched a moth (yellow sticker) from the air and began to unhurriedly eat its head as the stricken moth flapped it wings in the futile effort to escape.It mouth parts working and spilling juices and scales to drop as dust upon a stationary scarab beetle below.Marshal Icepick,wearing black star studded epaulettes,clucked with appreciation as the mantid 'looked over its shoulder',dropped what was left of the moth to the floor,and seemed to stare in his direction then wipe its mouth and start to preen itself.Spiders scurried across the landscape and captured what they could.Fresh 'recruits' were dropped into the exhibit through slots to keep the war ground in a constant state of agitation.Epic feats were applauded by the transfixed audience and money constantly changed hands.We congratulated Icepick and exited the pavilion before any outcome could be learnt.
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Stoutly constructed with large windows looking out onto the street,Certusd's restaurant was the place to dine in the city.From the common room came the hum of conversation,the clank of glasses and clatter of plates,and the smell of turf smoke.In the centre a handful of trussed up players,turning on a spit,waited patiently to be carved.The landlord was a huge man and he waved us in,wiping his massive hands in a blue apron.We were seated,ordered beers and were given the menu.BC barely looked at his,being distracted by the appearance of Miss Daisy who wore a deeply cleft ruby-red blouse and long lemon-yellow skirt with a long slit up its right side.He nearly choked on his beer as she sat down rewarding his keen eyes with a flash of thigh.Taking a seat beside her was her pal Bugsy1,wearing a sky blue suit,white-string vest,paisley print cravat and long brown cowboy boots.
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