High Winds

Today, The Great Plotnik went riding on his plotkicycle through the streets of Saint Plotniko. If it is difficult to imagine someone of The Great Plotnik's eminence (and girth) cycling through town, instead of, say, being carried on a palanquin by four uniformed Plotnikies in bunny slippers, consider this: The Great Plotnik is an optimist. He always feels the next cafe, the next enchilada shop, the next noodle house or the next piroshki hut may be the best one yet. From his plotkicycle he can smell what everybody's momma is cooking.

Of the world's cities that are famous for wind -- Cape Town, Chicago, Moscow -- Saint Plotniko is perhaps unique. The Great Plotnik has noticed that on the streets of Saint Plotniko, the wind is always in his face. Always. If he goes South, the wind blows North. If he turns around and goes North, the wind blows South. If he goes East the wind is blowing West and if he goes West the wind is blowing East.

If he goes, say, East-West-quick-quick-East again, the wind goes West-East-quicker-quicker-West again. When he jumps off his plotkicycle, the wind dies down. When he climbs back on, it starts. The whole thing defies logic, like Deep Fried Twinkies.