In the fifth fathom, between here and infinity, behind the twist in my logic, lies Relicviviva - a nobleman of the highest sort. In winding down country roads and flipping over old farm equipment, he was expert.

Over land and sea he walked with graceful rebellion.

Relicviviva was a war horse of sorts. A bad-ass warrior with twice his heart in mind. He thought well. In cases of violent progression, Relicviviva was flowing with the tide of battle. A weapon drawn, he’d draw two. He handled destruction like a razor - total control.

Relicviviva owned a coron-o-rama. It was a cross between a coroner’s office and a roller rink. He could easily assess a dead body and determine the cause of death. And, he could accomplish the entire feat on roller-skates. Relicviviva was tremendously skilled.

On Thursdays, Relicviviva looked to the West with deep longing. To the West, you see, lay his number one treasure - Lydia Gold. A woman and an asset, Lydia was, indeed, entirely made of gold.

Twice he took her to market, and twice she didn’t sell. When he had her assessed, however, she was valued at well over $300,000. Plus, she was a rock-hard lovin’ morsel. Oh, the way her skin sparkled. At six feet, she was a 120 lb Olympic achievement.

Relicviviva was in love. The pain would become overwhelming on hot Saturday afternoons - when he was out of lemonade and his thirst shifted to sweet Lydia Gold and her shining, valued body.

Loyalty was no stranger to Relicviviva. He understood the power of devotion. It was, of course, his destiny. Yes, for seventeen long years, Relicviviva waited for the day he could repossess his golden idol.

He stood by his window and patrolled his door.

Until, one day, he saw a golden flash from around the cedar hedge, down the block. Could it be? Lively Lydia prowling on her golden feet?

The figure rounded the corner - her light magnifying, twice then thrice, then four more. Relicviviva stared into the light.


Then, it passed, like a cold reminder of the statue of valued integrity he called a wife.

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