In the shadow of forgotten clocks, where the hands never move but always tell the right time, a cat made of shadows speaks fluent silence. The doorknob giggles.
Do you hear the whispering of olives under a mid-afternoon sun? They say it’s the fashion tip of the century — wearing one as a brooch.
Once upon a plea, a potato rolled down a hill seeking enlightenment but found only mashed dreams and buttered aspirations.
Why did the chicken cross the interdimensional gap? To ask the hedge to write a novel in the language of squirrels.