He decided that it was time to break up with

He decided that it was time to break up with the newspaper. He'd let the relationship go on for longer than he should have because he was afraid to hurt the paper's feelings.

He finally manned up and said, "I'm sorry, New York Times, but this relationship isn't working. I've found someone else to -mâché my papier." In his hand was an issue of Sports Ill

...ustrated. It was a hand me down project from his brother. Apparently mache-ing ran in the family and the issue was from their father and his father before him. His name was

Wilbur and he had died from years of wallpaper paste abuse. The paper mache project was mine alone. I opened the hangar and gasped. A papier mache Tower of Babel rose majestical

Ly and the door automatically opened. The doorman was an older dude and beckoned me in. I had claustrophobia and politely declared I needed to sit down.

He poiltely offered me a seat in his lift chair. Being very polite,I could not decline. Once I'd sat down he buckled me in and closed the gate. I said Hail Marys as the Paternoster

lowered him into the basement while blaring the lord's prayer through its mighty loudspeaker. Meanwhile, the lift whisked me up up & away into the dark & sinister mountains where

I summarily dumped. I ended up in a marshy puddle at the feet of the overpass support. I could see there were families living under the railroad trestle. The young men were living

the life of Riley, drinking and frying hot dogs on sticks over open fires. The women, however, were not as pleased with their hobo freedom, which consisted of nasty clothes and

well... hoboes. They left the tramps in the dust and forged a trail of glam-campers. Elegant airstreams convoying across the prairie into the ruby sunset.