Kreng - Opkropper
The Joneses are your next-door neighbors, to the right of your house. When you refer to them in print, you sometimes write, neighboors, for they are plain, vanilla, bland people, possibly, you hypothesize, yawns made flesh. Though they do provoke your interest in the realm of mail. They receive packages of every conceivable shape and size. You spend some time in the mornings watching what the mailman delivers. An archeopteryx skeleton. A plane’s propeller. A length of canvas. A gaggle of goose feathers. When you see Mr. Jones outside by the fence, after the milkman has just finished telling you where to put the milk, you ask him about the packages. He says, well, I thought it was about time to finish the basement. He looks at your apron and laughs. There are basements and then there are basements, am I right? He asks you. As long as it’s not wet, I’m happy, you say. He pauses and opens his mouth, as if he were begging to differ, but then closes it again and walks back to his house.[Buy Grimoire]