We sprinted around the muddy enclosure for two hours until one of us started falling down; the other leaned over to help him up and the downed one yanked hard on the arm of the helper, toppling him. The mud was cool and unforgiving.
We found this new posture congenial until some postcards were made by the haberdashery journal for distribution to haberdashers up and down the coast that they might give them to respectful clients who purchase enough; in the postcards were us, in the upper left corner, our names variously scripted in the upper right, our mothers' and fathers' likenesses etched as if by a three-year-old in the lower right, and a real bomb (like a letter bomb but smaller and even simpler) in the lower left.
We got up and intercepted the postcards, smearing them with mud but preventing their woeful arrival in merchant hands. We spoke on the radio: something was wrong with our nation that such as explosives could wend their way doomingly to the merchants of finery.
Meanwhile, the people who had imprisoned us in the muddy enclosure became angry and demonstrated with fists and legs against our continued position of having escaped. They moved their fists up, down like pistons chomping on rabid mollusks; their legs were gridiron taffy, imprisoning versatility of mien and development. The commentators spoke long about this; had our preventing of bombs to the haberdashers warranted present position of life in the globe of all waftings, our encampment in sturdiness railing?
We had our own plan. We readdressed the postcards to greengrocers instead, and sent them--hoping to show city hall the valor of men who would keep such things from happening, men who would lift themselves whole up out of muck and into a face of saving.
The greengrocers blew up one by one, recalling each a verse of Kipling and screaming it till the end of breath through the larynx. This horrified the multitudes, who bought stopwatches and counted the hundredths since death of the last greengrocer.
The stopwatch gentry surrounded us with tokens of gladness but we refused, citing our service to law and dire need on the part of citizenries at home and abroad.
Finally we got tired of the whole mess and went back to our muddy enclosure and raced around, racing around and around, till one of us started to fall and the other, gallant, reached down, only to fall into congeniality with the first in a gradual approximation of homosexual ecstasy in which one partner, screaming for some reason or other, finds a love for the other deep in his throat that can only be said with vulgar actions.
Later, tremendous improvement.