The yard was unusually busy today. Tourists thronged in and out of the gates, snapping photographs of everything, including other tourists. A particularly large group of Asian students in school uniform stood at the Quincy gate, facing a “Hahvahd tour” student tour guide.
“He’s pretty hot”, she thought. Despite her most fervent attempts not to look, she found her eyes kept focusing on his tall, lanky build and unkempt black hair. “I wonder what he’d be like in bed?”
Swish, swish. Her parachute pants brushed against each other in the wind with every step. Swish.
“Swish, Swish, I like to eat fish. Swish, Swish, I wish I were rich.” Singing made her happy. This particular ditty was to the tune of Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto no. 3.
“I like clouds”, she mused. Smiling upward at the sky. “Clouds, Clouds, go my way. I like you on my sunny day.”
The tourist blockade confronted her. What to do? There was no way she could break through, as these Asian schoolchildren were packed in tighter than a Vietnamese whore. Miriam giggled slightly at the idea of a tightness coefficient for whores.
She approached the wall of flesh.
The hot tour guide was going on about some sort of historic occupation of the yard.
“Occupation, Cockupation, how do we stop the tent flocculation?” She sang, this time to Vladimir Ashkenazy’s rendition of the Etude op. 10-1.
The crowd sat unmoving and unmoved.
She sat, desperate, contemplating how she’d ever make it to her date on time, and then the glint of an idea presented itself in her mind.
She focused on the hot tour guide’s voice. Ever since that lightning strike, she’d found she had an uncanny ability to emulate voices and throw them with extraordinary ventriloquist powers.
“The Occupy Harvard movement brought the tourism industry around Harvard to a standstill for an amazing four days before normal November Weather resum….”
The guide kept carrying on!
“OH MY GOD HE’S GOT A GUN!”, She screamed over his voice, in his voice, originating from his voicebox.
The guide appeared shocked, as if he, himself, had actually issued that utterance. Unsure what to do, he threw himself to the ground.
The Asian students scattered in confusion.
Miriam smiled to herself, and carried on through the gate toward the yard.
“Shoes, shoes, I like your laces. Shoes, shoes, you take me places”, she sang as she looked appreciatedly at the bedlam she had created.
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