At the Gate, through the Gate (Allen)
The monastery gate affected rust, but this was an optical illusion. By exposing coat after coat of red-dirt primer, the resulting bumps and crevices simulated aging. This had the advantage of appearing decrepit to casual passersby, the grounds uninviting in their assumed impoverishment. Mike the UPS driver tapped one foot until finally a young monk cheerfully swung open the right panel of the gate. Mike carried a shoebox sized package wrapped in brown paper. Young Monk: I’ll take that. [He holds both hands out, palms up and slightly cupped as if it to receive it in sacrament.] Mike: Can’t. Instructions are it has to be hand-delivered to some guy named Dogen. Young Monk: I’m new here. I don’t know any Dogen. Let me find someone who does. Wait here. * * * Tenzo: You have a package for Dogen? Mike: Yes. Tenzo: I’ll take it. It’s probably his favorite dried apricots. He says the fresh ones are too sweet. They need air to ripen. Mike: Like I told the other g...
Haha! Oh I love a good paradox--any word play or cleverness really gets to me. Puns too! A friend and I were recently singled out (doubled out?) and (lovingly, playfully) mocked for liking puns. I said, I still remember punny business names from a decade and a half ago that I loved: Avant Card (a stationary store in Berkeley that I saw in 2004!), Bearly Awake (a coffee shop up in Red River, a small ski area north of Taos), Life of Pie (pizza shop in Portland), Tequila Mockingbird (this one I only heard of, didn't encounter), The Notty Woodpecker (a hokey, charming artisan gifts and random little collectibles, antiques, etc. shop up in the Hudson River Valley)... the list goes on. Which is all to say, this delights me
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