Lost Property

Sweeping up at the end of a busy, boozy Friday night, I happen across a half set of false teeth nestled amongst the fag ends and crisp crumbs. An unusal find which raises the awkward question of should we keep them, where and how? They are paraded, rinsed and stored. A brave but somewhat embarrassed regular customer comes in days later to announce, with a lisp, that he has mislaid some of his teeth. How fortunate that we kept them in a glass of soda water under the bar for this eventuality. But most strange that said customer reveals, upon inspection & fitting of the found item, that they weren't his!

1 comment:

zocoo dizzyache said...

In the spyght of his tethe.
- John Skelton, Why Come Ye nat to Courte
(l. 939)