Reeking of Irony

It was a bright gray day when Mr. Dives fell out of his house. He had been adding a safer rail to his balcony. Some say he landed on his head, others say he landed on his face, and still others say his cranium, but the result was the same either way. Some say the result was fruit-shaped, others say it looked Martian-ish, and still others say like Saturday's leftovers, but regardless, the damage was done; the driveway was forever doomed to boast an extensive red-brown stain like a mark of shame that no one had considered it important enough to hire a pressure-washing company or even lend a hose to lighten the rudy hue.