On Dickens

“There was this man,” began Courtney.

“There was this man,” confirmed Francis.

“He was wearing a hat,” explained Courtney.

“Well, it was raining,” protested Francis.

Courtney frowned and gazed down at the device in his palm. This was going to be more difficult to explain than he had anticipated. Francis saw Courtney’s expression and drew a similar one across his own face.

“What kind of hat?”

Courtney brightened. “That was just that – it was a most peculiar hat. It was as round as his head and entirely black.”

Francis shut his eyes and looked as if he were putting forth a genuine effort to picture the man’s odd garment. “I can picture the black…” he began.

“It matched his style of dress exactly,” Courtney quivered, his wide eyes darting around as if expecting the man to appear again, in the same fashion as before.

Francis’ frown deepened as he failed to draw the idea of a formless black mass over the entirety of an equally formless man. After considering the result for some minutes, he concluded that he would be fit to envision this man perfectly if only the snakes and bursts of yellow proteins stopped swimming under his eyelids.

Courtney’s eyes narrowed, and he went on. “Looked like a government man. Thing is, he didn’t talk like a government man.”

“And he had this hat…” added Francis helpfully.