One Hundred and Nineteen

It was as if the inner circumference of X's vast, spherical head were composed of one long, narrow road snaking, shifting and tangling into a coagulated mass of hopelessly inefficient transport purposed for aiding a tiny bespectacled man on a rusty unicycle, pencil stub behind his tufted ear, peddling fervently through dips, valleys and cobwebs in a desperate attempt to animate X's correct linguistic functions in a relatively timely and inconspicuous fashion.