Thousand: Four Hundred Sixty

employed at the right time for the right purpose. The leprechaun, reading the significance of Bernie’s glance, shakes his finger under Bernie’s nose, reiterates whatever it is that’s so important he has to stand in the gooey remains of an omelette to say it, then reaches one arm over his head and makes a sharp pulling gesture. The leprechaun folds his gnarled arms across his knotted chest and the braid of black greasy hair that hangs down his back snaps straight up, a thread must be woven into it, a thread which now whisks the leprechaun smoothly and soundlessly high