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Constance Anne Siancey

Tittagglia had traded in his Della'Oro bicycle for an Augusto D'Vola motorcar, but not everyone had traded in their bicycles.  In fact, a leisurely trip on the bicycle was still quite a thing......

Gian Schiavonne and his daughter Constance Anne Siancey were riding a tandem bicycle across the Bonaradt at Tileo's Granary, where the gas farms are, and the pizzas are always lukewarm under a heatlamp.  This is near the waterfront, where the turtles lurk.

A Catholic priest had just came from the deep heart of the African jungle.  He was presently keeping up on the journals, all that had been written in his profession while he was gone.  There was a surprising load of material, actually, and he was delving into the load with a certain vigor, enjoying cuisine Italiano, red wine in the evenings and flowering vines at the dooryard.  He could even walk in the wood without being stalked by rogue gorillas, or fall prey to the other kind: the guerillas.  Boko Haram, who stripped his i…

Hernon "Ulysses" Titagglia.

He came in with a parcel and the morning post.  He especially valued a letter from a pen pal, addressed to one "Henry Tibia".  Tittagglia was that Mister Tibia.  And I could see him saying, "They call me Mister Tibia", but this was all discreet with his secret pen pal, making love in letters, intercoursing, her writing him "oh you dirty boy".  They put smells, odors, on the stationary, hoping to entice one another.

But they both carried on so, and the letter was received from another address rented by Tittagglia from the postal service.

He hid the Tibia letter in his breast pocket, put down the rest of the matter, opening the parcel to reveal a kidney, procured from the butcher's shop.  He put the kidney in a frying pan on medium heat, then went to play with his lizard, whom he called "mister jump".

Lady Daisy, his betrothed, had seen a sewer worker come up from the catacombs of the city, covered in the city's filthy discharge.  Immediat…

mail-order motorcar

Tittagglia lusted for the Augusto D'vola motorcar in the catalog at Hageman's in Sharote, SC.  It was a long black thing with a shiny gleam.  It looked like it would just gracefully cut through the air as it traveled down the road.

The banana yellow bicycle had developed a squeak.  Tittagglia's knees had developed a squeak.  He lived a solid four miles away from town, in Tileo's Granary.  The biking was a slog and he had began to slack off, putting off trips to town for supplies.  In that, everything suffered.  He was running out of hues for his work.

And his work depended on a good supply of hues.  Indeed, the hues were his expression.

Tittagglia came to Hageman's one morning with a canvas bag, full of quarters and silver dollars.  He counted them out on Hageman's counter and put an Augusto D'Vola on order.  He couldn't afford the V8, so he ordered an Overhead Cam V6 which had comparable horsepower, but better fuel efficiency.

He was excited for the da…

Via del Market Extensione and Prima Via.

Tittagglia was on his Delli Orio bicycle, heading for town.  As he pedaled along, he mused about making the television commercial, where he tossed a bottle of wine into the roadway and it exploded.  The commercial was never aired, as censors considered it objectionable for a number of reasons, but he did get a fat paycheck from the Delli Orio company for shooting the commercial.

He went along the Via del Market Extensione, towards Sharote, and once there he had kidney and a loaf at a cafe on the main street(prima via), then got some Umbrian red for later that night, putting it in his wicker basket on the front bar.  The Umbrian red would calm his nerves when the logs whispered later that night as they burned in the fireplace.

He stopped, with his stomach still quite full, and lay down beneath an apple tree, among fallen, rotten apples.  There was a wine smell.  Yellowjackets came and made semi-circles over Tittagglia's sleeping form.  A stray dog came and took away one of the arti…

The charge of Monsanto and Tittybug, on their last hoorah!

Tittagglia went to the Tileo foothills to summer away, escaping some of the humidity and thunderstorms, facing instead morning frost and mudslides.

He walked through the knee-high heather, looking for nature scenes worthy of painting, things like waterfalls and boulders set before the wood.  He saw a wild horse, running along with its head down.

Rather bullish.

He saw Monsanto and his worthless boy Tittybug.  Tittagglia mused that it was so hard to make a proper start these days, hard on a young person.  Still, Tittybug was hardly worthy a proper start.

They exchanged greetings and talked of the apple cider, that pulpy goodness that was for sale along every other mile on the roadside.  Monsanto was saying this was the last of the family vacations, with the boy having aged into adulthood.  They had just bought him his own horse and carriage, which he left with a hostler for care and feeding while they vacationed.

Tittagglia found a tree stump, about waist high, and when he walked up an…

Dr Pepper trouble, the one with the NCAA football on the side of the bottle...

Apocalypsus Hastings was a doctor by trade, so Tittagglia called him up one day.  They went to the edge of Sharote, SC by the Legion building and the scrapyard and looked down on the town.  Hastings took out his monocle and watched intently in the town below as a single Dr Pepper travelled between the stores.  The red and brown bottle went from the I.G.A. to the Market-Market, to the Great Station, to the Speedy-Mart.

He explained to Tittagglia that he was looking for the Dr Pepper with the football on the side.  Not the new XBox or any of that jazz.  This sports edition had special meaning for Apocalypsus.  And while on the hill, Hastings saw his brother Roald Pogue coming out of the Serv-way convenience store.  He made no comment, for he had mixed feelings about his brother.

Later, Roald Pogue was on a tirade about the Serv-way not selling anymore Hotted Dogs.  Sure, they had the weiners in the coolers.  You could make your own.  But it wasn't the same.  Furthermore, Roald Pogue…

Family business, or "the sausage, making of".

We were talking but there was a noise from outside.  The widow Blaustiften went to my window and looked.  The Today Show crew was in Tittagglia's yard.  It was becoming a circus in Tileo's Granary.

With grease around his mouth, I saw Tittagglia come out and walk right up to the reporter, interrupting a live shot.

It was on.

I turned my teevee to the local NBC affiliate and watched Tittagglia explain that his wife was in Decatur, Georgia on family business.  She had not come home yet because she was sticking to the two-lane state blacktops, hoping to see classic cars sitting in the weeds, of which she intended to take pictures.

I knew more, though.  Tittagglia had started making sausage at home.  He had a grinder and a box of casings he ordered online.  He also tossed an armload of clothes in the garbage a few days ago.  Looked like lady's clothing, and there was one lilly-white Reebok in the yard that had dropped from his hold.

The widow Blaustiften listened to Tittagglia …