On an edge o’ the Invisible Continent, Chicken Medium huffed & puffed as he twisted a screwdriver into a screw in 1 wing & scrubbed a toothbrush onto the machine in ‘nother, both going as quickly as he could muster.
It’ll all be worth it when the Vision comes true & we join the upper crust.
But the machine was unstable. It always wanted tuning & scrubbing, & sometimes the scrubbing made the screws untune & sometimes the tuning made the machine dirtier, ¿& how could he decide ‘mong all o’ these problems when he felt like he was killing it just as he was trying to clean it? ¿When he was expected to compete with bent bristles & rusty screwdrivers?
& then there was the plague lurking round, threatening to cause whole cogs to fall off, ruining the whole enterprise!