A Window
Faust picked up a bottle of champagne sitting on the whitewood windowsill, “Oh, for me!” He grabbed it gleefully and shook it, an ecstatic grin cracking his face wide open. He loved to be in London, and walking along the very pretty Thames at sunset. “I love to be in London,” said Faust to some workers cleaning up at the fish markets. They eyed him in disbelief. By this point you are probably imagining Faust as balding and either drunk or delirious. “Hey you, I am not bald and nor am I all that drunk,” shouted Faust at some loiterers beneath the Tower Bridge. He skipped around the cobbled street while his tails danced about, and noticed the glint of copper fasteners on aristocrats in the golden dusk just after tea. Then he saw a display in a bookman’s case and he ran up to have a look. Although it was faintly dusty and the sun was setting he bent over and squinted his eyes and muttered to himself what part of it he could read: “… never finished, only abandoned.”