Drawing 123
2008-08-06
So, the governor is dead.
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Yes, he is.
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From drinking ink. India ink.
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The better part of a bottle. Drank it in place of his daily soup, it seems.
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Confused the two? Really?
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Oh, I'm sure.
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But…how? The soup is hot; the ink: chilled. The soup: clear; ink: black. The soup's in a bowl, with a spoon; the ink in a childproof lidded jar. (Pause) How'd a confusion possibly arise?
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It's not for us to question “how.” All I know is that, from the outer room, I heard the governor announce “I am about to eat soup,” followed by loud slurping. Later: “This soup is subpar,” and more slurping. Only much later: a thud.