Assault Cafe: The Pope Case

In case you haven’t noticed, a lot of the people who write for Assault are what you might call “real classy guys.” We like to dress in tweed jackets, smoke pipes, and (when we’re not too busy tossing word-bombs at 30 Seconds To Mars) we sometimes even like to do a little old fashioned, rootin,’ tootin,’ straight-up creative writing. In that vein, I introduce Assault Cafe – a cozy little corner of the site where the arty-farty types can get together and share their passion for putting sentences together. For our next installment, I present Jere Pilapil’s “The Pope Case.”

THE POPE CASE
by Jere Pilapil

In the suitcase in the Pope’s office is a tumor,
a bottomless pit, two stars, a dancer and a baton. Old video tapes of pro skater bloopers.
There is a truck-driving hermit crab who has taught himself to parallel park
but only when driving his truck and only in winter and only over black ice on Sundays.
A half-pint of ice cream later, ten unsolvable mysteries (two of which are viciously mathematical in nature) are stored by the Pope.
A dog’s territory, marked and moist and man constricts and crawls about sixty feet a day. Once, it got run over by the hermit crab
because it was Wednesday, after all, and one can’t be expected to be fully careful full-time.
For all its troubles, its injuries were mindless. Still, he felt sad to be a rag
until he learned to dance. The sudden shift in footwork impressed a peeking Pope, who asked how’d the dancing come to be.
The drenched man sweat for a minute. He made a gesture toward the sun, which saddened the Pope, who closed the suitcase and
lamented how difficult this job can be.

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About the Author

Jere is not from Chicago. Nor is he from Parts Unknown. But he sure loves to hear things. Follow him on Twitter!
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