"Well, excuse me," interrupted a Small Voice from behind me, "I did say you had to read it."
Such precision! Her father wants her to become a surgeon, but I think such a nit-picking mind is reserved a special place in the seventh circle of professional hell: the law.
I was sitting on the verandah at k.'s house when that mop-topped youngster t. came out and announced that he was going to tell me a story, a story about a green ball that rolled down a green hill wrapped in a purple blanket.
"Hit me," I said. [Which, you may be surprised to learn, was my invitation for him to tell the tale and not a request to have punches rained upon my person.]
"Once upon a time there was a green ball and it rolled down a green hill and it was wrapped in a purple blanket."
So, you think to yourself, the little chap isn't quite four - what more can you expect? But wait, there's a twist:
"When it got to the bottom it bumped into a rock and rolled back up the hill."
What this kid doesn't know about narrative suspense and story arcs isn't worth learning.