a bazooka of basil had broken the ceasefire yet I

held my ground until

Friday's garlic howitzer but still I kept

my powder dry, beseiged by that

coiled enigma now so compromised that I

refrained from even a

side-long glance until Tuesday, when,

hit below the belt by curiosity I

surrendered, only to recoil at an

explosive residue of

pickle (courgette or mayhap

cucum...

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