Lucky Pierre arrived today. Actually Roy kindly mailed him to me weeks ago (thank you again, Roy) but, because of my recent knee surgery, I have yet to make it to the post office. Mr. Lee went there today for me.
After living under Roy's house for who knows how long I must say, Lucky Pierre is in great shape ... physically. But he's despondent. I couldn't get him to look at the camera. I understand. He's embarrassed to be seen in public dressed in a Santa clown suit. You must understand, Lucky Pierre is actually an artist, a Parisian and a very proud fellow. God knows what brought him down so low but better times are ahead.
Perhaps it was the nipping of the wormwood, the absinthe, as was so popular among the surrealists when he was still known as Lucky Pierre. Perhaps he had too many Pernod Fils too many times at the dark and smoky bistros. Something sent him on his downward spiral. To gig as a Santa? Ah, Pierre. But now you are found, my friend. It will be slow. Everything around here happens on ashatime but things are looking up my friend. Things are looking up.
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