Random Sequence: The Illuminato (fiction)

The Illuminato was a big man, athletic but listless -- a sort of torpid panther, Ivan thought. Lifting one of his elephantine sneakers, the Illuminato deposited it on his kitschy footstool, an imitation tree stump. "You seem like an apt gent," he said, with a honeyed tone. "Not like that dotty hamster I hired last time."

"What, exactly, do you want proofed?" Ivan asked. "I assume there is a manuscript."

"Indeed there is," said the Illuminato. "It is autobiographical..."

Ought oh, Ivan thought.

"...a sort of isotopic expounding combined with frazzled reminiscence," the Illuminato continued. "The story of a jerkwater disloyalty that dilated into a...a sort of a....let's say, a sort of elegiac factorization."

"Hmmm?" Ivan murmured.

The Illuminato looked suddenly suspicious. "A... salubrious orthogonality," he said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

It was then that Ivan realized that this assignment was going to be a pickle. A big, fat, green dill pickle.

[not to be continued]