What can YOU say in six sentences?
There is a rhinoceros in the park.
It’s just a normal, small-town park in nowheresville, Illinois, with a couple of little league baseball diamonds, some kids’ play equipment and a weathered picnic table or two, and there is an 8000-pound gray rhinoceros standing in the middle of it. The rhino smells something, and tosses his head about angrily; oh my god, it’s the president of our local bank, Mr. Stafford, walking home for lunch, taking his usual shortcut through the park, and the rhinoceros sees him, is charging him and has hooked him horribly with that fearsome horn on his lowered head. Blood is everywhere, and Mr. Stafford is tossed aside like a shredded rag doll, because now the rhino is distracted by a group of kids chasing each other around the merry-go-round and laughing. In a flash, the huge beast, shaking the ground as he runs, changes direction and is at the merry-go-round ramming and trampling little screaming bodies like bugs squashed under a shoe, and it just makes no sense, a deadly rhino on the loose in our quiet park.
Maybe . . . maybe I just imagined the whole thing; I mean, an African rhinoceros running wild in our little park—well, I guess I better get over to the bank to sign those final papers for the foreclosure on my house since I lost my teaching job year last year.