From df0d5f3cb03f8bf7d72e067c0fd7ee54ce4b86eb Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Tue, 24 Mar 2015 22:53:18 -0700 Subject: Change template and CSS for flatter structure - Change CSS to one file - Change template to reflect CSS flattening --- window.html | 22 ++++++++++------------ 1 file changed, 10 insertions(+), 12 deletions(-) (limited to 'window.html') diff --git a/window.html b/window.html index 58afb0f..619dbe3 100644 --- a/window.html +++ b/window.html @@ -12,23 +12,19 @@ Window | Autocento of the breakfast table - + - - - - - - + -
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Window

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HYMN 386: JOKES

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Tell us a joke” everyone asks of the clown. He sits on a log and begins to think. Everyone waits gap-mouthed in anticipation. A slight breeze ruffles the clown’s coat, his pompom buttons, his bright red hair. His nose becomes redder in the cold. Hours pass. All but the most dedicated of joke listeners leave him to rot for all they may care.

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The clown opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. A tear falls down his cheek, and another. He begins to sob. The last joke listener comes over to comfort him. She puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her, red face, red nose, white lips, and says “Thank you.” He vanishes from the clearing. The last joke listener sits on the log and looks up at the sky. The moon is full. The world creaks on its axis.

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Paul looked up to the space on the wall where a window should be. The shadow of his face wavered in the candle light. He looked back down at the card he’d been writing on. He read the card. He crossed out the for all they may care in the first paragraph, and “Thank you” from the second one. “What could he say” he thought to himself. “What could he possibly say to her.” He went outside to clear his head with a cigarette. He took his axe with him this time.

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HYMN 386: JOKES

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Tell us a joke” everyone asks of the clown. He sits on a log and begins to think. Everyone waits gap-mouthed in anticipation. A slight breeze ruffles the clown’s coat, his pompom buttons, his bright red hair. His nose becomes redder in the cold. Hours pass. All but the most dedicated of joke listeners leave him to rot for all they may care.

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The clown opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. A tear falls down his cheek, and another. He begins to sob. The last joke listener comes over to comfort him. She puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her, red face, red nose, white lips, and says “Thank you.” He vanishes from the clearing. The last joke listener sits on the log and looks up at the sky. The moon is full. The world creaks on its axis.

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Paul looked up to the space on the wall where a window should be. The shadow of his face wavered in the candle light. He looked back down at the card he’d been writing on. He read the card. He crossed out the for all they may care in the first paragraph, and “Thank you” from the second one. “What could he say” he thought to himself. “What could he possibly say to her.” He went outside to clear his head with a cigarette. He took his axe with him this time.

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