affame_le_geant_montamore fyn gula the wind continued to sweep through the trees with a sound like giant wings, but was far less threatening, as the madrill rode out of the woods and approached the small village of montamore. she paused for a brief moment to take a quick look in her shoulder bag. breathing steam, she pulled open the zipper to reaffirm the presence of puppertwinkle's flesh. it filled her with a sense of pride and accomplishment. her work as 'body from bone separater' was highly prized, and deeply coveted for she was the only one known in the immediate region. therefore, she demanded a respectable price and in turn provided a reputable resume of impeccable service. she also checked her black leather book of contacts to make sure she had proina's number. satisfied, she reclosed the bag and before heading into the village, she used an old lock from a mossberg shotgun she once bought to calm her y2k fears and slid it through the holes of the zipper. it was here that the bianca strada, reduced to a snow-packed pathway paused and a main street of sorts began. the madrill took little notice of the sand-blasted welcome sign, "welcome to montamore," that someone had defaced with black spraypaint underneath: "now go home" she peddled into town upon the belgium block road, some ten meters across, which a brigade of kandelescean gnomes had constructed during an unusually wet summer when muddy conditions made it easier to set the stones. montamore, one of only twelve villages along the bianca strada, consisted of just seven shoppes. on the left , as one approached, there was baeroun's mercantile, a satellite store of the original which was located in keubtowne, that sold necessities and sundries. stuff like locally grown organic fruits, nuts, grains and vegetables, grass fed, antibiotic free meats, and various nutritional supplements. it featured, a pasta bar, highlighted by chef kerby's garlic-rosemary tortellini and his famous wine flights. the madrill dragged her feet along the bricks which had been salted and cleared of snow and came to a stop in front of the first shoppe. she lifted the sleeve of her wool coat to check her rolex. "8:1o," she said to herself, "should be open." before making her call at the barista, she decided to grab a few things. she had a long trip ahead of her to the kingdom of broken glass to deliver puppertwinkle's flesh to propina and would need some groceries to sustain her along the way. she set her bicycle in the bike rack and the snake-wheels immediately undid themselves from the frame and slithered nearby to a private area to coil themselves into a ball of repose. the madrill watched them and smiled. she loved when they did that. she pulled open the door. a cowbell announced her arrival. she noticed several shoppers already scanning the aisles with wicker baskets overflowing with goods. some pushed shopping carts made of twisted willow branches and tires made of spent chewing gum pressed tightly with adhesive on wooden wheels. each one gave off a faint scent of the particular type that it consisted of, as they rolled across the beeswax rubbed pine floors, like spearmint, peppermint, or wintergreen. the madrill noticed hers seemed to be teaberry. however, it was a little hard to discern with the aroma of omelettes emanating from the breakfast cafe located in the back left corner. "good morning!" someone called out to her. it was plasimento, the manager, who had been passing by as she began to make her way down the first aisle. he was human, that is as far as having legs and arms, but when it came to his face, well that was a different story altogether. for you see, it was that of a siamese cat, with the bluest eyes, even brighter than the sea when the sun was brilliant. the madrill bid him a good morning, speaking back the french by which she was addressed. plasimento had a wooden crate of bright orange persimmons sitting on clean straw and was on his way to the produce section. "if you need any help, just let me know," he said. and he noticed the patagonia shoulderbag. the odor of puppertwinkle's flesh faint, but undeniably perceptible. 030102 what's it to you? who go blather from