“Peakology, Hucka D. I’m becoming interested again.”
“Corsica,” Hucka D. uttered to this. “Corsica Corsica Corsica!” But it wasn’t Hucka D. Instead: someone else yellow, someone else who wasn’t who they seemed to be. Square. Wearing pants.
—–
“So when did you start smoking again, Petty? It’s disgusting. And stand back from me why don’t you? This is not your scene.”
“*All* mysteries are my scene,” the confident chef-inspector replied, puffing even more rapidly. Smoke gets in his eyes but he isn’t bothered. Point is: they’re in his as well. Petty wasn’t going to budge from this spot; he was as if pettrified. This might not be pretty; this might get ugly.”
“Listen, *Pettry*.”
Officer Glammerpuss stopped. Did he just call the inspector pretty? Close enough. His face turned red. Love. But also smoke.
There were a lot of things going on here at once. Racism, social inequality, sexual issues, rise of the machine age, to mention just some I’ve spotted so far.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 