La retour de Pierrot

It has been many long years since Pierrot has written to you, mes amis. He could not stand to look in your face. He travelled around the world on foot for your love, you spat in his face and he smashed an entire chateau to pieces in his rage, before leaving for Brazzaville and trading arms up the River Congo for many years. There the people were dark and savage, and while they raped and murdered without a whim the fundamental honesty of their animal brutality was consolation to Pierrot after how he had been treated by you. But Pierrot, sitting on the edge of that eternal river, his back to the unknowable jungle, knew that he needed to return. Exhaust him, spit in his face. But let him at least troll up to a van Saenredam, and feel awe.