i’m made of rubber, you’re made of glue

I’ll do my utmost to maintain some sense of proportion, and levity, throughout this tale.

The Saturday venture that landed the Mercedes-Benz in our driveway led directly to a butterfly effect felt across northern Virginia. As quickly as it was bought it was apparently sold to those we’ll call the Prince and Princess of Rivendell who inhabit the hills and valleys across the hall; something or other about dreams, nightmares, peasants, and whatnot. There was a good deal of back-and-forth between The Shire and Rivendell concerning the final destination of what I’m now calling The Ring, the beautiful golden chariot. Dreams were to be fulfilled, the ostentatiousness of the massive and powerful thing conquered, and desires to make everything right for the time of man. After the give-and-take (literally) betwixt the two small empires was finally resolved, by X deciding against forces to keep The Ring, there was peace in our time. The folk of Rivendell were happy enough to consider waiting and pondering what was so closely held for those mere seconds, and deciding to look about to see what else might be conquered. What was available for those means this morning was to be an exact copy of The Ring, one year older, that has now found a place in the parking lot of golden cars. As if one t’wernt enough, there are now two – one for each Kingdom. Priceless.

It reminds one of a silly story about a couple of chairs. Think about that, and stones, and castings.