I was told I needed a new suit, so I headed to the Men’s Warehouse to buy one. A gaunt man with glasses greeted me eagerly, a cloth tape measure draped around his neck and a grin as wide as piano keys. “You need a suit, sir?” “I do,” I succinctly replied, and he ushered me with a straight arm to the back of the store. There, I saw a blue-white sign, pulsing at thirty flashes per second that said, “Suits of Space. “ I was intrigued yet I was also put off. “Uh, no,” I uttered, yet he with the will of gravity and the brash of gamma-ray burst, insisted I at least try on a coat. So I did, and before I knew it I was wearing an entire suit, wherein sixteen moons and sixteen hundred stars combined to accentuate the suede. Glorious the garment, resplendent are Triton, Io and other moons great and small, glory to Rigel, to Sirius, to the red giants like Betelgeuse… So splendid is the sun. The cosmos was me as I, a heavenly light stood tall as ceiling lights paled and all the auxiliary lighting bowed and even daylight itself seemed to pause for a moment of respect. How was I to pass, then, on such a suit? The sun and the moon and the stars with only slight alterations needed—a universe of fashion. 36 Lines Writer’s Cramp 9-3-16 _____ Requirement: Must include: “Sixteen moons and sixteen hundred stars.” |