Most of my life I have been alone. I grew up alone, either sick in bed or too feeble to play with other children when I was well, not that I wanted to as I had no social skills. Finally, now in my Autumn years, I have a friend but he hates the sound of my voice and is always telling me I talk too much.
An idea for a novel, the confusion between the sound of Drap d'Or and trapdoor so someone thinks he is headed for the gallows, but instead is to be invested with a golden cloak. Perhaps a bit obscure even for an episode in one of my sitcoms. This is the first of hundreds that has been recorded, and perhaps the last to exist.
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