The man with the twisted brain. Tuesday. Aug 29. 2023.
In "The Man With the Twisted Lip," Sherlock Holmes is enlisted to help find the missing Neville St. Clair. The investigation leads Holmes to an opium den in a seedy part of London, where he encounters a disfigured beggar, Hugh Boone. Intriguingly, Boone is discovered to have possessions belonging to the missing man. As the story unfolds, it's revealed that St. Clair had assumed the identity of Boone as a lucrative ruse. Originally, St. Clair had dressed as Boone to track a man who owed him money. Still, when he realized how profitable begging in London could be, especially with Boone's convincing appearance, he continued the charade. Over time, St. Clair found that he was earning more as the beggar Boone than in his respectable profession. The transformation became his secret double life, enjoying the earnings of his deceit until his disappearance and the subsequent investigation by Holmes unveiled his secret.
So far, the great detective has not unmasked me on the streets of Provo; I continue to display my haiku in front of the Kolache bakery while sitting in a wheelchair, with a large tin can prominently displayed in front of me.
Amy and I started the day together at the Provo City Center Temple for the 6 a.m. endowment session. Meaning we got up at 4:15 a.m.
Amy's suggestion that I use the wheelchair finally percolated down into the conscious portion of what passes for my brain. Roomy, higher than the temple seats, I discovered there are privileges when you're in a wheelchair. Head of the line, and so on. In addition, I did not take any of my pills before the endowment session and wore an adult diaper. Meaning, my fine feathered friends, that I finally enjoyed the session as much as I used to before all the ills and embarrassments of old age set in ten years ago. So, I scheduled us to be at the 6 a.m. sessions Wednesday through Friday this week. I never feel like a failure or an outsider at the temple. It's better than any therapy for me.
Of course, this cut into my time at the Kolache place. I got there at 8:27 a.m.
Plus, I have discarded the artist's sketch pad in favor of a whiteboard to display my haku.
I was given my first and only kolache of the day at 9 a.m.
And my one and only contribution of the day came at 10:34 a.m. when a lady put one dollar in my can.
Otherwise . . . bupkis.
People ignored the whiteboard as much as they did my artist's sketchpad. Maybe even more. I only observed two persons who read my haiku and reacted. The first was a young lady who gushed: "Oh, how lovely!"
The second person was an ill-dressed honyocker, who came out of the pawnshop next to the bakery, gaped at my poem, and then guffawed like Pinto Colvig (who did the voice of Walt Disney's Goofy, as well as Bozo the clown.) As he walked away, he mumbled something unintelligible. I just gave him a nod and wished him in Hades.
Things got so boring for me that a little after 11 a.m. I erased my haiku and wrote, in all capitals, DO NOT READ THIS SIGN!
But nobody reacted.
In a final act of frustration, I resorted to doggerel:
Roses are red
Violets are green
Can you believe
I was once lean.
This gem didn't get any reactions from passersby, so I closed shop at 11:47 a.m. to go to Fresh Market to buy some bacon jam and a box of Entemann's chocolate donuts. Once home, I asked Amy to make me a prune and yogurt smoothie. Now I've written up my notes, it's time to siesta.
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