Tough luck that was for Schmidt,
Terrible fate descended upon him, like scientists on a fermenting pile of Ebola,
Erica, his fiancée clutching onto his arm ever so tightly,
Earlier on, their bird had suffered massive turbulence and rapid cabin decompression towards the last mile, the homestretch,
Then the sharp descent transitioning into an emergency landing,
The metallic monster survived, with a severely compromised structural integrity,
The curse still upon him like a bad habit,
Losing his cherished timepiece and Canon in the ensuing melee,
Then the long drive and numerous detours to the remote lodge,
The vacation that never was, or rather, that which should never have been,
He recalls vividly the jinxed moment at that bifurcation in the woods,
The silhouette, the heir of Slytherin, the fouler, the sudden strike,
Then the sharp twinge, the torment, followed by several antivenom shots,
And summing up the misadventures with that cataclysmic bungee jump,
Safety carabiners detaching and flying yonder towards the end of the jump,
Then snapping of the cord and harness…, Interlude,
Schmidt suddenly snapped his eyes wide open, Ouch, the bright white lights!,
Damn it!, Could it ever get worse than this?
