Juan Gris The Guitar

Juan Gris The GuitarJuan Gris BreakfastGeorge Bellows Stag at Sharkey's
door edged cautiously along the path. As it passed Modo it pivoted awkwardly, as if whoever was carrying it was trying to keep as much behind it as possible.
‘found it by the compost heaps. My wheelbarrow’d broke, and I looked up, and there -‘ ‘I’ve never seen anything like it before,’ said Windle.’Who’d want to make a big basket out of wire? And those wheels don’t look big enough.’ ‘But it pushes along well by the handle, ‘ said Modo. ‘I’m amazed that anyone would want to throw it away. Why would anyone want to throw away something like this, Mr Poons?’
Windle stared at the trolley. He couldn’t escape the feeling that it was watching him.
He heard himself say, ‘Maybe it got there by itself.’ ‘That’s right, Mr Poons! It wanted a bit of peace, I expect!’ said Modo.’You are a one!’It’s a kind of security door, ‘ said Windle.He paused. There was something wrong. Hecouldn’t quite be certain what it was, but there was suddenly a lot of wrongness about, like hearing one note out of tune in an orchestra. He audited the view in front of him.‘What’s that you’re putting the weeds into?’ he said.Modo glanced at the thing beside him.‘Good, isn’t it?’ he said.’I