monet_on_bartlett_fish_out_of_water blumengarten he sat down then, this skeleton man, beside the man in the dragonfly costume on a patch of moss beneath a tulip poplar. they squirmed in their seats with the anticipation of the parade's imminent arrival. it is the thrill of what's to come. we dream. we wish. we hope. the music of bagpipe and drum intensified and it could soon be seen that the parade was being led by a gutterpunk riding an old bike that appeared to be clumsily restored. it was rusty but seemingly well oiled. there was a small wagon attached to his dented fender with a ten foot chain that used to keep a corgi restrained to a farm outbuilding. the wagon, a well-used antique radio flyer contained a 3'x4' plywood sign that had been painted white with black, carefully scripted letters that read: "FISH OUT OF WATER" the gutterpunk dressed in a dirty, eclectic mix of salvaged black on grey chic was an excellent rider and even though he was pulling the small burden of the sign, he was showing off for his audience of two, pulling wheelies, doing donuts, and generally cruised the vibe. his arms were full of tattoos and when one looked closely it could be depicted in chronological event the whole story of affame le geant from saumboo to cayris. "fish out of water?" the skeleton man said, and the man in the dragonfly suit thought it was a question posed. and it was. "that's you," he said. "me?" the skeleton man responded. he was somewhat offended. if he was a fish, he wanted to be swimming. "this parade is for you." they stood up for there was an amazing sight behind the boy on the bike. 030911 what's it to you? who go blather from