What Jim’s Camera Couldn’t Capture
pure, undiluted flopsweat- a twisted petting zoo
- I want to think the best of everyone
- Apart from the masks
- at his haunted castle
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What Jim’s camera couldn’t capture was my pure, undiluted flopsweat at the idea that this mime dog’s trainer might be in this very room, a twisted petting zoo where Clyde, the sole exhibit, was perched in my lap. Nobody who knows me would expect that I want to think the best of everyone, but I certainly want to think better of just about everyone than I thought of that mega-mime.
“Jim,” I said in a shaky voice, almost forgetting to lisp, “are you sure you know what you’re doing? Have you really considered all the angles here?”
“There is only one angle, dear brother,” Jim purred. “The right angle. That’s the one I’m workin’. And when Domino sees these pictures, he’ll know I’m not messin’ around.”
Domino, the Lord Carnevale? Apart from the masks, his troopers were just as creepy and overly dramatic as mimes. He trained them at his haunted castle and sent out leaflets now and then threatening to sic them on the unsuspecting populace. Meanwhile, the rumors about his unseemly bond with Clyde were evidently not without some basis.
The knockout gas had almost worn off. “I thought this was about my sem–” I cleared my throat. “My brother’s semen. Why get yet another faction riled up about it? I mean,” I dropped my voice a bit, “it’s bad enough you’re mixed up with the pantomime contingent. What’s happening to this family?”
bonus points for using them in order