679 Readings | 2 Ratings

to be read aloud with a lisp

 The teapot steamed and stood steaming for some time as teapots will do without the assistance of someone removing them from the stoves where they sit. I got up from the position I was in to pour a cup and scalded my friggin finger. I ran water over it. I ran it under and over it. I blew on it until it was cool enough. There were no cups to put the tea in so I left it in the pot where it sat. Where I left it, it changed a bit, it steeped a bit. It changed into something more fit for it. I sipped at it from the spout. I tasted it. It turned out to be too hot and I dropped it, I dropped it and it spilled and scalded the puppy. The puppy yelped and slipped from where it stood. The puppy slid down to the tiles and sat there staring up. I took the tap in my mouth to cool my tongue. I turned on the tap to test the temperature and it too turned out to be too hot. Shit. I thought. I am so sick of this. I thought. I went to see if some mail had come. I looked into the slit and slid open the letter to see what it said, this is it:

Sir,
Still speculating on the size of your studio, it is speciously spatial, especially special and spatial. Specifically not stereotypical, but typically specific, so seemingly seamless is it. Its craft is explicit in its expertise. Though they wish to ship it in the Pacific.
So just skip it.
Sincerely,
PP and Stern Attorneys At Law

I did not know what to make of it. I speculated. I posited. The studio was still for sale, still situated for sale so far as I could tell. Perhaps someone wanted it, wanted to purchase it and ship it in the Pacific. But skip it? Perhaps I should seek out this PP and Stern Law Office and see what it is. Soon I sought out the office. The office was spacious. I saw the secretary at her desk. May I please speak to PP, or Stern? I asked. Certainly sir, she said seething up at me. She pressed a spot and PP sounded softly through the speaker system. This is PP, he said. PP there is a Mr…she said and stared up at me. Mr. Spok, I said. A Mr. Spok here to see you sir, something about a studio for sale. When PP stepped from his office I saw that he was short and smiley. He was pleasantly plump. Mr. Spok I presume, he said, shaking my hand. He spoke with a lisp. Yes, I said, I wish to speak with you about this letter regarding my studio for sale. Oh the studio on Stapleton Street, yes yes yes, he said, suppose I was to say that my clients the Pattersons wished to purchase this studio? Suppose I was to say the Pattersons wished to ship it to a place somewhere possibly problematic across the Pacific? Well it all depends, I said. That all depends on the price they wish to pay, I said. They wish to pay you a lump sum, he said, still gripping my sweaty hand. A lump sum of two hundred and seventy thousand dollars. My eyes lit up. That sum is preposterous, I thought. That sum seems reasonable, I said. Then the problem is solved, he said. He let go his grip, his lips pursed and he spat into his palm. I spat into mine and we shook smiling. Sold, I said.
Posted 03/30/10
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