Flowers

Jim Gott and old money don’t mix. There is no possibility of change. He sent flowers to the old lady, to no avail. Then he fought the Chinese laundry over the disputed crease in his last clean shirt sent by ups ; the Chinaman got a court order that he not be so called. He makes peanuts: Jim’s thousand a year is viewed as a decent living: you figure it out. Old Gott was taken to court, a kind of maze synod, that September, ornamental cherry petals littering the streets. Thirty-eight years later the charge sheet tells us that he was called The Fiendish. In the distant future, I shall be as efficient as you.