Friday August 26th 2016Tim
imagination wanders through the shadows of doom its
glasses fogged by sweat and steam, like a lost soul
without a metric wrench it curses Napoleon, gives
serious consideration to voting for Trump, welcomes the
End of Days, and then as the noon hour strikes it has
what might be called a little bit of a heat tantrum.
"There's nothing wrong with this drive belt!"
Reaching to steady himself, he calls to the Angel of Greed,
who for those who might be interested is still exiled in the
barn, he's disguised as a Velvet Ant, and then our gallant
repairman spots something untoward on Doctor T's left
handlebar. A loose bracket had slipped, leaving the clutch
with insufficient pull. And Oh Yes! To put right it
naturally required an allen key, they grow on trees, you