“Ding! Ding!” said the Cyclist.

(‘Ha! Ha!” said the clown – but, that, was many years ago.)

‘Ding! Ding!” said the cyclist, as he saw the man and his two dogs.

The man turned, saw the cyclist, and moved his entourage to he side of the narrow lane. The cyclist passed by, calling his thanks.

“My bell doesn’t have a bike!” he offered.

“Don’t you mean ‘your bike doesn’t have a bell?’ queried the man.

“That, too!” he replied, as he faded into the distance. “That, too!”

I considered the strangeness of the world – for ‘I’ was that man.

Then we carried upon our way.

Later, I was near the church when I heard a familiar sound, ‘Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!’ and so on, until twelve ‘Dings!’ had been ‘dinged!’

There, in front of the church, was the cyclist – now garbed in black, accessorised by a starched white dog-collar.

“My bell doesn’t have a church.’ he offered.

“Surely you mean-“ I started.

“That, too!’ he admitted. “That, too!”

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