Today I am trying to emulate the writing style of famed Torontonian author Margaret Atwood...
It's 1932 in the sleepy town of Toronto.
At 9A.M. Ulysses S. Buford arrived at his bank. He climbed out of the chauffeured Cadillac. A distinguished-looking man of 60 he wore a finely tailored black pinstripe suit. Brushing back his full head of white hair, he adjusted his spectacles and stepped toward the front entrance.
It was the Buford Savings and Loan, started by his great grandfather in 1840. A stoic entrance one had to look far up to see the gargoyles carved into the grey granite. The building had seen better days as the Great Depression was upon the land.
Nobody knew it but Ulysses S. Buford's biggest hobby was flatulence. He had already eaten four cans of beans with two beers. With a smirk he entered the bank.
Excited, he saw Old Lady Haggerty. She was no doubt making a withdrawal. As she filled out the slip he walked passed her and let out what he called the, 'Silent Grandslammer.'
Feigning mild disgust Ulysses S. Buford now paused to stare at the woman and say: "Oh, Ms. Haggerty!"
Confused, she took a sniff of the putrid air. Shocked, she exclaimed: "I don't believe it was me."
With disdain he shook his head: "Oh, Ms. Haggerty!"
In tears she grabbed he purse and fled the bank.
|Margaret Atwood (file photo)|