when ends meet and again

so it goes, said sponge, year in, year out, on and on, same syntax.
to go on: on looking back ‘on’, the word, reads ‘no’.
elderly ladies will fall out of windows once more, or twice, will tumble down, go on. get up, swiftly clean their clothes and go about their business, go on, get on with things.
we don’t to worry about that, said sponge, everything will fall in the right place. with breadroll’s agreement they spent the day this way or the other. nothing happened. but that is different story.

eggman again for short

see it roll, an egg. down the road. who rolls eggs down roads, down, the eggman? sponge baffled, likewise breadoll, buttered so to speak using easy puns as a means of achieving comical effects that might even insult people.
that is not acceptable. could we report it? that would lead to an investigation. on his  behalf. we could, and that would be a decisive step on our part, threaten an investigation ourselves. leadership, that sort of thing. what sort of egg was it anyway?

a train a train again

it was a cold train. airy. gusts and drafts from all sides and no comfortable position to get warm. it was a train nonetheless. train drafts, platform drafts, what do you want? so, all together, a train. we should not be so boring, said sponge, and always talk about it. trains and trains people.
did you see the other one smile the other day, said breadroll.
sponge hadn’t so breadroll could not tell his story.

and so another effort again

the rain has stopped for a while, said sponge, but not for long. i wonder if that is the climate change.
smells like i anyway, said breadroll, i smell a rat when i see one.
that was the most stupid comment in a while.
was meant to be.
that brings me back, said sponge, hours of senseless talk. just speak. he looks around, sees nothing. ya well, he says.

purge again and puke

it had to come out. this dramatic entry into a story was written down by a young man from bolton, bath or leatherhead. he sat for a while and contemplated, thought about the meaning of this sentence, the first in a succession of many more that would form a novel rather than a story, he knew that much, couldn’t reach a conclusion, went for a drink with friends, nightclub afterwards, met a girl, drunken sex, awkward conversation at the breakfast table, dry toast, no butter, jam. what had been intended to be a one night stand turned out to be a longer affair, marriage eventually, children, job, mortgage, the template order of things. when, after year the man look at this very first sentence of an otherwise unwritten novel he wrote: it was out. when it was out it was over.
the man was from darlington.

one more song again

q: you once said you weren’t that type of celebrity.
a: i could make an exception, couldn’t i?
q: could you? would you?
a: i could.
q: so we leave it at that.
a: i could do it again.
a small moustache performed a lazy dance while he spoke. knowing the train man’s general way opinion sponge gave in to a feeling of confidence, which was only a memory the next morning.

do it again moment

do you want me to hug you again, said breadroll.
you are yet to hug me, said sponge.
oh, said breadroll, when did that not happen? no joking, said sponge. no further comments and closed.

someday somehow the same must happen again to someone

is that the day we’ve waited for? hardly is. never, not this one.
these were the comments received to the question; we could have other comments but are content with these ones. they are better than none at all.
thus spoke sponge.
certainly there was no need for him to say that.

terror has made its point once again

they stood for a moment only and then fell but for no glory.
the bomb the took offally.
only one toilet left and they all queued in shock and horror.
traumatised, unable to meet the consultants’ demands.

and cut again

these soldiers must have been the in-crowd, said sponge, a jolly bunch, and made me feel safe, that’s for sure.
and cut, said breadroll.
what do you mean, said sponge.
as in stop, said breadroll, i must stop you here.
i see, said sponge.

we try angst again fuck sake

will angst, said sponge, be an archetype for us, on our travel to a corner shop and the drivel that comes with it?
a descriptive term, but not in itself a category; angst should be considered a subgenre of other categories (narrative, character study, episodic, etc.). a shop may be filled with angst-ridden employees and patrons, but there’s usually a story behind it.

one of those loops again

thiteradig agagadi ga g adigathe rararetita gagrtatatrgatgatha asadhith thi thit thit. thiteradig agagadi ga g adigathe rararetita gagrtatatrgatgatha asadhith thi thit thit.
is that?
yes. one of those …
loops again. when the cable’s fucked and the digital jammed.
neither nor was impressed. sponge even though of  doing some mad thing to protest.

would you say this again

idiot, said block of wood, for revealing today’s big line already yesterday.
and you lied, said breadroll, as he’s not saying it after all.
not if he says it again, said sponge.
i won’t said block of would.
that’s that solved. they went about their business.

if you think that was witty think again

bloob. blobb. blobb. bloob. porridge. rigidly porridge. that’s all we have these days, said sponge.
not true, said breadroll, we have jam, butter, cheese, sausages, eggs, chocolate.
but no porridge, said block of wood.
no porridge, said breadroll.
and toast, said block of wood.
how could i forget toast, said breadroll, tell me how could i?

there we go again

very politically uncorrect the titles have got, said breadroll, recently.
very, said sponge. ————————
there was a sudden and lenghty pause that neither could bridge.

white men again

do you realise, the first white man said, we are here again.
indeed, the second white man said, how come?
how long to go until the end of the episode, the third white man said.
not long but that’s beside the point. we wanted to spend time with our corner sheep. quality time for quality men. the first white man had tea. we even have tea, he said, breadrolls would be fine, too.

the auld again

we had this problem before, with being heard and stuff, didn’t we, said breadroll.
we did, said sponge.
they stalled and did not do anything for the day.

born again

i’m reborn, said silence.
while breadroll crumbled sponge all moist and spongy wiped the table. blokk cut ham in half and made faces at his upset look.
i was reborn and i did not want to, was happy and all quiet, said silence, but there was a shortage, someone called in sick and a poor soul was needed so here i am with the 3 — things again.

try again

let’s kill 2 birds with 1 stone, said sponge — into the void as the others (2) were fast asleep.
i try again, said sponge, again again.

silence again

meanwhile, in the other office, something else happened. something utterly unexciting breadroll, sponge and block of wood were completely unaware of.
the sun shone.
there’s always a spreadsheet, said sponge and returned to silence.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.