The first time I met Pilar it was 1702, in the small Finish port of Rauma. She was a cat and I was a rat and we were aboard the HMS Chichester ready to set sail to Varna with a load of valuable fresh Moonbeam-Flower extract. We have met three more times each following our own methempsychotic routes. In 1856, on the green, mean and dangerous pastures of suburban Rotterdam she was a foal and I was a mole. In March of 1946, high up in the Atlas mountains of southern Morocco she was monkey and I was a donkey.
The last time I saw Pilar was a few days ago on the Westbound platform of Runnymede Station, she smiled, came over and said "Hello, old Soul!" then she gave me back my bullets. Pilar told me that they are of no use to her now as she will soon turn and expire. Apparently she will drown off the coast of Newfoundland in a suspicious boating accident, less than three weeks from now ... "Adieu, old Soul!"
fawk ... this is awesome!
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