[This book has been on the move before the online library was launched. Its stories are presented here in the order of their conception.]
After lots of adventures and loads of good luck, Sock managed to join his friends, Spoon and Can O’ Tomato Paste, to their journey to Jerusalem and in their mission to save the world.
Zuperkoleoptera in Leiden added an empty packet of Camel cigarets
Keys in the sand.
Loaded the car, picked up my girlfriend and left for my first car trip.
Two weeks later the car remained parked most of the time while we had lost sense of time and space, in a place full of sand and cider trees.
He visited us for 3 days,with his motorcycle, he had just started working so he couldn’t take leave for more than that..In between drinking smoking and swimming long discussions on cooking occupied most of our time. Should we cook lentil soups for tonight or spaghetti, garlic is it supposed to be added at the end of cooking or in the beginning??
The next day He arranged to lose his bike keys..two small keys chained in an even smaller ring, buried in a beach almost 5 kms long..Sure way to get fired…He didn’t care at all though, maybe He was even happy that He wouldn’t return back to the city..The last day you could see it in His eyes how determined He was not to leave, we tried to find the keys but He didn’t participate..eventually we decided to continue our drinking session and forget about the search operation..After a while a girl appeared with the ring, and guess what, the keys in hand…
Eventually He got back to the city just to let them know that He drops his job, the same day He was back to the beach.
Mat in Leiden added a lighter (not committed yet)
Michalis in Leiden added a yoyo
Sam in Amsterdam added a rattlesnake skin
The rattlesnake that bit mah woman was as thick as my arm in its middle, though that may have been on account of a rat or a cat or a prairie dog it had swallowed the day before. In any case Esma was dead before she hit the ground. Her lucky chestnut – “lucky” i reckon, but in the worst sense of the word – will get buried with her, along with the silver spoon she was fed out of as a child, though anyone who knew her or her kin would snicker at the thought of any of them “being fed with a silver spoon.” I made my way up the dry riverbed here, with her body parked up top of the mule, who will be the only one of the three of us alive when the sun goes down behind the hills that line Slaughter Gulch this evening. This has always been one of my favorite spots…you see i was one always on the side of the Indians, what with all the butchery they was subjected to by us White Peoples, and here was where a small band of their fiercest women put to rest 87 settlers one February morning about four score years ago. I’ve got my tin of meat for my Last Supper, my pack of smokes (which is where you found this note, if you’re readin’ it) and my lighter. I hope I don’t make too much of a mess of myself, as i wouldn’t want to see a man with a hole blown into his chest by a 12-gauge shotgun, no-how and no-way – which is why I hope the contraption i rigged up dumps all the dirt on top of me after I fall back into the hole next to my beloved. I guess that’s about it, and about twice as much as I’ve ever written in the last 10 years. Keep the pack of cigarettes with the piece of that motherfuckin’ rattlesnake skin, be careful with the lighter, and enjoy what each day brings your way, hear?
Sam August 12, 1921.