another day to file as an incident

shall we start again, said sponge.
with a wet sponge, said, breadroll, that sits on your chair. a wet sponge. quite some incident.
the excitement it’ll cause. the utter joy.
unbearable. we better leave it, said sponge, the excitement could make us hopeful.

some incidents are just for nothing

i’ve never seen a heart attack, said sponge.
you mean someone having one, said breadroll. of course. the other day, on the train. that man just got sick. oh yes, disgusting, all down his coat. he took it well. until they threw him out. no, he didn’t like that a bit. he was very upset. ran after the train and all. and against a tree. no, he fell. oh yes.
i tried to use that in a presentation or so but it didn’t fit in, said sponge. don’t worry. something else will come up.
doesn’t really look like an office around here.
it never does. that the whole point.

some incident of lament and no escape

how do you feel about circles, dimensions and circles and seemingly same sensations? not good. dotcom. it rained. lightly but steadily, a constant spray.
we could all start with a narrative, said sponge, that’s quite something.
i think we’ve been here before. i must admit i feel so-so without a compass. and then with this whole book thing, that puts some pressure on all of us.

an incident

herr brekst sat on breadroll, and block of wood had taken the last slice of toast, to define this morning.
— a long pause —.
herr brekst to sponge: good morning, nice morning.
block of wood to sponge: good morning, nice morning.
herr brekst (initially wanting to ask breadroll a question) and block of wood (in no position to answer questions) enjoyed their breakfast, and that is all that counts and will be counted to be taken into account.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.