Hemingway’s Auction

Going once, going twice, sold to the man with the yellow smile—head on over to Block B with your wallet for the exchange and it’s all yours, congratulations, mazel tov, enjoy—what’s up next; oh yes, this one’s a beauty: take these home and your little one will be crawling around the block as always, only now her feet will be in one piece when she comes back; they work just as well for boys, I’m sure, but the pink may be a bit too cutesy for his father’s taste, even if the tot don’t much care himself, though they’re not all pink anyway—just the edges, the rest sparkling white, ready to be personalized by your little one with the unique hues of your very own backyard as soon as she learns there’s something there to explore—better give her all the protection she can carry on her, since you can’t be there all the time, y’know, no matter how vigilant a parent you may be, and now you’d have one less body part to worry about—better to be keeping an eye out for her head than her feet, I say—and besides, she’ll be wearing high heels soon enough, you may as well enjoy her time in these little things while you still can—she’ll be grown up before you know, perhaps it’s cliché, but it couldn’t be more true; get your cards together, the bidding will begin momentarily; just think of her freedom to run around the yard with no fear of what unpleasant surprises the ground may hold—oh, and that’s the signal, we will now begin the bidding for sale number two-thirty-six, baby shoes, never used: starting off at thirty cents—I see thirty, do I see thirty-five—I have thirty-five; perhaps I can take it up to fifty—and I see fifty; how about sixty, I have a sixty, seventy-five—yes, seventy-five, keep it going, folks, the contributing family wants to see these go for a good price, they deserve it, after all; what about eight-five: eighty-five; can I bring it up to a dollar—yes, a dollar, I see you back there, sir; dollar ten, perhaps—I see a dollar ten, do I see a dollar twenty-five; and I do indeed, how about a dollar thirty-five; come, now, you can do a dollar thirty-five—ah, yes, the gentleman in the back again for a dollar thirty-five; anyone care for a dollar forty—dollar forty—dollar forty for these beautiful shoes; I don’t see any signs, so dollar thirty-five it is: going once, going twice, sold to the little man in the back—trot on over to Block C and they’re all yours, sir; now I see our next item is a watercolor by the banker’s daughter…

Info:
Editing status: unedited
Composed: 25 April 2006
Submissions: None
Inspiration: Hemingway's famed six-word story: "For sale: Baby shoes, never used."