It was dusk. JJ sat by a cobblestoned road. He'd sat here a century, waiting for *the* day, but it never seemed to come. This evening, he sensed, was going to be different.
A sun-blonde gypsy had been trudging all over town, searching for any signs of nightlife, for he'd done nothing, seen no sights, danced no jigs ever since he got here and had no place to sleep. He seemed well under the weather for it was chilly, and he had on but a shimmery, slight shirt.
He posed his problem to JJ.
JJ: "Cold, eh? nowhere to lay down the old bone-sack, eh? It's obviously a rhume and bored situation."
So saying, JJ cackled himself into the afterlife.