Between the blue-shaded side of a largish partly bricked building which housed a Chinese restaurant and, oddly enough, laundry and the squat brick side of a trapezoidal edifice that housed a bank and the offices of a local fuel consortium, there lay a lot, more of a paltry, rectangular yard, really-for a house stood at the extreme end of it, pushed back, far from the rears of the two proud, alternately-shaped buildings it lay between-at the very front of which was permanently anchored a wooden and metallic bench that came complete with a tiny, tasteful black and gilded plaque memorializing some great, ancient citizen and prominent benefactor/benefactress of the town whose posthumous funds, when appropriately deposited into the ravening, near-empty town coffers, perhaps to coincide with the deposition of the casket of the dead town philanthropist into their channel of open earth of four earthen, wormy, dank walls, allowed for the construction, placement and adhesion of the bench to it's appointed place and directly behind the curled top of this old-fashioned wooden bench and it's jetty steel rails, stood a tall, ancient, gnarled oak upon the lower trunk of which some dubious, inchoate local artist had once fashioned a face........
(Note: This tale is currently unfinished; perhaps, though, if someone were to show some interest in it, I could continue it. What do you think, hmm?)
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