Does it speak parrottish, I asked the woman in the wordshop. Parleys in dashes, she said. She closed her eyes and the parrot started to – – . The woman opened her eyes again and the parrot fell silent. Can I try, I asked. Not upset it, the woman said. I closed my eyes, then peeped and the parrot went _² _² _² _². Now parrot broken, the woman said, you guilty, you pay. I withdrew thirteen ,s from my ;loyalty card and stuttered out of the wordshop with the parrot on my left shoulder. Once on the street the parrot winked at me and said Helluva deep thinking that was Franck Pity though you keep having second thoughts Still Fancy fish and chips?
That illiterate night I had a wordshop’s woman, beyond all her punctuation marks. And, between brackets, a parrot. Medium rare.
Franck Vanhee is a Flemish word barterer. Nothing else anymore.