How I came to write Pim
People often ask how I came to write Pim. It seems like a thousand years since I discovered Pim, or that Pim
discovered me. Thankfully I kept detailed notes and saved photos from that time. While I can’t swear to the
absolute accuracy of what you are about to read, I have done my best to capture the essence of how Pim entered my life.
Pim and Bim were no strangers to Mr. Love’s struggle with the instrument, oft seeing him in dramatic postures and locales, berating it.
And now Mr. Love was moving towards the city, while practicing his flugelhorn as he always did at this time of day.
Throughout his youth Mr. Love had addressed his mother as Mrs. Love and Mrs. Love had addressed her son as Mr. Love. Unusual.
You see Mr. Love was haunted by memories of a darkened corridor wherein his mother had grounded him for 44 years, after Mr. Love had sinned.
But it was the nights Mr. Love dreaded. Mr. Love never turned out the light, yet his dreams were of dark things encroaching
And Mr. Love would approach parks at sunset, parents snatching their tots away so quickly that toys were abandoned for him to appropriate.
Mr. Love could be seen on weekday afternoons, memorizing plate sequences of cars at a motor hotel.
While events within previous frames were unfolding, Mr. Love, a gentleman feared by everyone, had been moving towards the city.
Back at the rooftop bar Pim and Bim had immersed themselves in jars of salt water, communicating in a manner understood only by them.
