106 Tickled by the truth

The giggles were infectious, were Swami Skinrash in an acute care psychiatric facility for adolescents. But he was in the Plip Plop Coffe Shop, eyeing the piles, seeing not so much extinction as pointless accoutrements such as sports watches. No one else giggled, if they could hear him over Dan Tantrum’s authoritative homage to David LaFlame guiding “White Bird.” But Swami Skinrash giggled on, as if he were Baba in the course of a lecture about Transcendental Meditation.
“Is that gold?” he inquired to the air, overwrought by avarice when his eyes fell on a Breguet Marine with a crocodile strap around a wrist within the dead.
“Oh my goodness me!” He had heard of Patek Philippe, one of whose platinum iterations was not four feet from his beady eyes. Expensive insignia, more and more! There must be no rush to remove the heaps!
“Whatever can be in those fanny packs?”
More giggles. His round, fat little tummy shook his second hand store Hindu robe to rippling, a vivid analogy of peristalsis.

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