The NARROW ESCAPES of FARGO LITANY

There I stood awkwardly abashed, suddenly coming to a halt. I imagined my countenance appropriately availing my momentary anxiety, despite my effort of it not being so, about the consequence slyly promising its manifestation. But this only for a moment. Yes. Indeed only a moment. A creeping realization, then, after my abrupt chary duly catalyzed by the housekeeper's belching words and their impercipient intended, slowly began its etching; manifesting onto my mind the adulation of its premise like a fresco. Oh, I could see it ever so clearly.

I' am escaped, I had thought.

I had.

I would.

Merely though, as you've probably ascertained, by means of, say, Spaggiari stratagem--the tether of such adulation in which I properly began to internally revel. Certainly not in the manner of my elusive undertaking that night as it was. A rather stolid minuet of the theatrical to which thieves so often obliges themselves. So it was.

A wonderful proclamation only out paced by the recompense of my facility, the remnent of which laid nestled up the cleavage between my thighs, began to brew as I veered toward a pair of French doors leading out into the night. The taking, or rather nostalgia of such, in theft, my greatest delight. For I, strangely enough, am never truly in those moments. It is a thing I find somehow constraining of my very sinew. As though the pleasure of love is varily not the partaking of it. Yet so it is my greatest carnal pleasure.

Such, along with the incessant alarming of the chateau's security system, was a soothing monody-for who else felt as I had been?-when I stepped out of the door and onto the balcony, seemingly cantilevered there above, overlooking a massive, manicured sea of blossoms. A posh managarie-rare roses protruding from bouquets of parsley seemingly set asail above a sea of anemones. Nestled within the shillouette of pristinely barbered shrubbery.

I had been only slightly hindered, or rather distracted from this view, by the looming commotion within the halls of chateau d'or.

The night had yet reached its peak, and neither was it so young, but it had duly imposed and situated itself. Anchored beneath the luminous, silver glow of a full moon. A gem in the sky, if ever one was to describe it as such. Much like the pearlescent shard which was properly wedged between my thighs. I stood and watched the city as it sat alight on the far shore of the goah river. The collective of its luminosity availing it as an ark of stars hovering just beneath the ether.

Slowly rising. Readying, it seemed, for a trek towards the heavens. Much like the feeling which began to slowly cede its exultation, slowly up my thighs and down my spine, as I endeavored back between the halls of the chateau. I must leave now, I had thought. A sentiment echoed by my disappointment in the man's utter ineptitude; as a lover, human, a friend-a point at which we'd subliminally arrived. Precisely why he'd been such an easy mark. My exodus, not so much a hurry though no more so than my arrival, was accordant. The deed was done.

But to a Halt, once more, I came, as he, the host of such a grandiose gala as it was, suddenly stuck his large head, dimensional to his portly carriage, through the double doors which lead out to the balcony. In a dash he'd come, and with his defeated complaint and the threat of retribution he duly felt in his stead.

"To hell with the lot of them! To hell with them, Fargo," he'd wailed upon seeing me. "The audacity of the leaching lot. Thievery on such a night."

I'd only called out his name in response as though It was a thing I had been shifting the gears of my brain to recall.

"And on such a night," he continued as he passed me without coming to a stop, and moved towards the bannister. "Quite an invitation this has turned out to be."

"It's quite alright. Well, until--"

"Yes, yes. Don't remind me of it," he'd refrained.

"Wasn't my intention, Balleneaux."

"Of course, of course. I should know," he'd said, letting the air from his, as still, massive torso as though a cork had been removed somewhere. "I fret not so much about the demn jewel, Fargo, the thing is insured. Hell, I suspect that I shall put ten million pounds to more proper use. It's just the nerve of the demn twat. Coming into my home just to rob me. Should he ever stand before me, by God I shall wring his bloody neck."

He had gone on and on and on, doing so whilst, eventually, I made my way to where he'd situated himself and mimicked his pose against the banister.

Once more I caught a glimpse of Fisk, as it sat luminated in the distance. I quite liked the city, though I suspected, then, such an affinity was obtusely situated compared to that of others, even the glutton. I had grown up somewhere similar. And while this was not the reason that I like did so like the city, there was, when I was a child therein the decayed nook of the one in which I came of age, a prevading concensus that such were precisely the places which lead to bad roads. The road down which ruin takes you...is the road to ruin, I think it was. Though i must admit that the sentiment presented itself to me quite differently. We shall come to that.

I quite liked the run-down sections of it, even as a child, because I felt at ease between the creases of the nostalgic decay. My contention always was that I would evade its ruinous path even though it was such that I duely traversed it. I would conquer it. A sentiment which seded its reminiscence as I stood next to Balleneaux D'or looking out towards the city as he gripped.

Precisely that city, I'd thought. The ruinous nooks of which was especially picturesque. Nostalgic, defeatedly grandiose.

This realization came symbolically, standing as I was, next to a man bloated with self importance, adorned, and having to contend with his defeat, in silk and satin and more jewels than a mansa.


To be continued.......

Author's Note

Unedited