Become Hemmingway
 

I thought it would be fun to collectively write a novel. I'll write a paragraph, and then turn it loose for you to do the next, and the next etc. Only one paragraph a day, per person, but you must take up where the previous Cellarite left off.


WINTER COMES EARLY IN THIS CITY. THE FIRST SNOW COVERS ALL THE SOOT AND DEBRIS THAT THREE OTHER SEASONS LEFT BEHIND. SOON, WINTER WILL STAIN THE CITY WITH ITS OWN FILTH, BUT FOR ONE DAY IT COVERS MANY SINS. IT HAD BEEN SNOWING STEADY SINCE ABOUT 2 PM, AND NOW, ALMOST 7 PM, IT WAS DARK OUT. THE SNOW CUSHIONED A LOT OF THE CITY’S NOISE ALSO, AND MADE MY WALK DOWN THE STREET FROM MY OFFICE ALMOST DREAMLIKE. I WAS HEADING FOR GREASY RICHARD’S DINER FOR A CHEAP DINNER AFTER A LONG DAY AT THE OFFICE. THE PRIVATE DETECTIVE BUSINESS ISN’T AS GLAMOROUS AS THE MOVIES PORTRAY IT.

AND THEN THE POWER WENT OFF. SO I WENT HOME AND WENT TO BED.

I WAS AWAKENED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BY THE SOUND OF PAPER BAGS RUSTLING. I AROSE QUIETLY, AND TIPTOED TO THE KITCHEN. THERE WERE EMPTY POTATO SACKS ON THE FLOOR, BUT NOTHING ELSE WAS AMISS.

WHO HAD EATEN THE OVER 300 POUNDS OF POTATOES IN MY PANTRY AND ONLY MADE A LIGHT RUSTING SOUND? THE KNEE-DEEP SACKS MADE SUCH A HAZARD THAT I COULD BARELY TREAD FROM ONE SIDE OF THE ROOM TO THE OTHER.

THEN THE REALIZATION STRUCK, POPPY'S STILL! PULLING THE WINCHESTER FROM ITS OILSKIN I SLIPPED THROUGH THE SUMMER KITCHEN AND INTO THE COOL NIGHT. AS SOON AS I BROKE OVER THE RIDGE I COULD HEAR FLINT'S MANIC TAPPING.

THEN I DECIDED TO HAVE A DRINK.

So there I was at 2 in the A.M., in a town that never sleeps, in a bar that never serves good booze, thinking a about a problem that won't go away.

At least my hangover had finally subsided, though, and my self narrative had returned to lower case. Now to apply my introspection to the problem at hand. 300lb of potatos was enough to give anyone a gippy belly. Whoever had done this wasn't just about the spuds, they were making a statement. A personal statement. The hangover returned. Tap tappity tap tap. TAP TAPPITY TAP TAP. That was no hangover, it was that damned Flint intruding on my thoughts again. He had no place there. I had no place here anymore. I finished my drink, checked the safety, and left through the side door.

AND THEN THE POWER WENT OFF. SO I WENT HOME AND WENT TO BED.

I tossed and turned; but, couldn't sleep. Something had changed: the mattress seemed lumpy. I raised the mattress and found, there between it and the box spring, ... POTATOES! The perpetrator had evidently returned to the scene while I was away. WHY is the perp antagonizing me like this and of what significance is the fact that ALL of the potatoes were PEELED?!! I'm tap-tappity-tap-tapped out of ideas.

The potato peeling perpetrator, peeled pecks of potatos, and pilfered the peelings... the pecker!

More questions were nagging at me. Why did the power keep going out when I wasn't living in California? Why did I always go home and go to bed when that happened? And what about Poppy's still? Also, how did flint ever get into my head? Suddenly, the simple answer to all the questions came to me. It was all because of the peeled potatoes! I knew what I had to do next.

I knew I needed to re-peel those potatoes. It was as if removing the skin of these potatoes had released a Tuber Pandora-like pandemic, and the only way to stop it was to get the skins back on the potatoes. How long would it take me to sew skins back on 300 pounds of potatoes? I sighed, and went to work.

First I had to gather the materials; so, I went to the pantry hoping that whoever stole my whole potatoes had overlooked something that I had hidden behind the cereal boxes:

Attachment 17339

I opened the bag and examined the contents. I noticed that these potato skins had no eyes. THAT WAS IT! When the stolen potatoes were peeled, not only were their skins removed; but, their eyes had been eliminated ... and I'm a "private eye." Someone wants to ELIMINATE ME! The tables have turned and I, the traditional hunter, have become the quarry. My adversary keeps me moving by knocking out the power wherever I go. When I instinctively return home to get much needed rest, I'm antagonized even there. I'm being worn down for an easy kill.

Who would be so determined? Could it possibly be that all of this is happening; because, I refused to share the production from poppy's still with my old nemesis Flint?!

Evil old Flint. Well, I'm still the best private eye in Spudville, so I'll sew those skins on, and then the bait will be set. Flint can't resist the smell of cheddar and BACON!!!