Gladys - The Man behind the Glass
'We are having the time of our lives', the stumbling bird, another inhabitant of the house on Number 17, Prune Alley, which is the same house in the small town at the end and the edge of the street we are talking about here all this time, shouts out loud. 'They told us it was hard, but they were wrong. It is harder.'
'We are having visitors from Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside, doodle', Marianne, the doodle-hen says, 'Bromford and KussKuss, the llama.'
And the llama kisses her right on the beak.
'Those are two persons from another household', the stumbling bird with his way too long legs and his weak, but false knees which are in fact his ankle joints for his knees are way more up his body hidden at the tops of his legs, shouts again. 'They are not allowed.'
'Hey, I am not a person', the llama exclaims insulted.
'And don't call it a household', says Bromford, who seams to be a human being.
'I love restrictions', the polite but sleepy llama girl says. 'And I love pandemics.'
And the llama, which I like to call the animal, because we all know what happens when you are speaking out its' name aloud, whispers in my ear, 'There are way to many llamas in your blockblog. And we are not related.'
And the fortune cookie says,
Today is Saturday, the 23rd of January 2021.
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