The Queer Prescription Of The Herbalist Moss

Gody has a birthday tonight. He is a host and something like a God but with "y" in the end. It's not enough for the girls to say that looks beautiful; his eyes remind of dark emeralds where excepting the light are refracted any possible female glances. Actually Gody is so confident and possesses such a magnificence that I suspect he takes course in good manners. This is not cock-and-bull talking, because anyone who knows him well (I'm not of that group, but I have ears) will confirm that he is willing to start on learning anything which could brings to him a lofty mien.
Silvester, an acquaintance of mine is Gody's friend and often says that he reads rarely but keeps in mind a lot of phases and important quotes.
Silvester likes to talk about Gody's singularity, but only when he is not around and cannot hear him. Everyone was aware of sensitiveness of the host. His girlfriends repeatedly felt incomprehensible fear of possibility to be slapped in the face; that's why they often try to hold his hands as long as they can.
Silvester is so naive about things beyond his business. He would believe even in fairy tale if only it sounds contemporarily enough. On the other hand, if some money and investitions are involved there is no such insightful and robotic mind like his own. It seems that he is informed weeks ahead regarding any possible profitability, and now he hints to me that I have no clue when it comes to money...

To Be Continued
(Painting: Mijo Kovacic, Croatia)