Greetings Sir Step,
While my trite episode can rate little more than a 2 or 3 on your Step-Scale, I was, nevertheless, shaken by the imponderable juxtaposing of events and circumstances that led to this rarest of moments.
Minding my own business and seeking little more than corporeal stimulation as I set about to undertake my routine morning constitutional, I took the road less travelled that particular day. There is no explanation as to why I should have chosen that path as it proved an arduous climb that nearly collapsed my one remaining lung. Additionally, I am a creature of habit and take not to a break in tradition with any keenness whatsoever. Anyhow, I eventually levelled out, allowed myself a so-called breather, and headed ineluctably west.
Ambling along, no haste in my step, I passed homes not totally unfamiliar to me yet ones that rang no bell for me. Until, of course, there it stood - this most wondrous of domiciles, an edifice whose windows I had washed years and years before. For, you see, I am a window washer, a most noble of professions.
"Ah, Mrs. Pendergast! I wonder how the old darling is ... it's been eons!", I exclaimed, eyes trained toward the structure, mind going back to when last we had chatted over my callous indifference toward WINDEX.
Why, I shall never know, the thought crowding out all others was that Mrs. Pendergast resembled the famous Galen Hurley Brown. After an indeterminate trance-like state of mind snapped shut, I gathered myself together and recommenced my saunter. Moving away from the apron upon which I had been glued, I glanced casually at the clutch of letter boxes perched aslant the lane. I goggled as my head boggled ...
There, identifying one of the boxes was the name ...
Hurley ...
CoCo
