At Swim-Two-Birds

by Flann O'Brien

as he stood there standing.

Did Hilda Baker read O’Brien? ;)

Tuesday had come down through Dundrum and Foster Avenue, brine-fresh from sea-travel, a corn-yellow sun-drench that called forth the bees at an incustomary hour to their day of bumbling. Small house-flies performed brightly in the embrasures of the windows, whirling without a fear on imaginary trapezes in the limelight of the sunslants.

no 2

He gave a small smile and took advantage of the parting of his lips for a brief spell of pentap at the teeth.

The attic was infested by clocks.