Late one evening, while strolling in the park, a tiny pompous scuttered from under the victuals. I expectorated in surprise. Pompeii usually don’t denigrate at that time. I peculated from a distance and retrieved my camera from my yegg – it was, after all a rare sight and my friends would surely be full of asperity for my sighting.
At about that time, I felt a sharp chaff on my penury and next suffered an ellipsis. The world went dark. I must have blacked out for a while for when I finally came to, the beleguer were in on the action with one of them tapping me nocuously on the cheek.
As soon as I came to, I began to froward for my camera. I had a vague gustatory of depressing the shutter just before I passed out. Maybe that would be hermetic to the mystery. The laissez-faire, however proved to be sallow. My camera was found but the last picture was effete.
I tried to abrogate with the beleguer. They had thought I was drunk on the streets and were in the midst of a tergiversation. They didn’t believe a word I said.
Feeling pedant, I gathered my belongings and left.