The merry ol' holes.

There was a hole, a big ol' hole in a busy road in town.  Around this hole, a thriving tourist industry could'a been.

There could'a been a fishing pond with people ketching fish, frying 'n' selling with thick slabs o' soft, hot plait bread, and enamel mugs with steaming tea that look just like the water in the hole.  Better yet, people could'a sell ice-cold sof' drinks in plastic bottles. Thirst quenched, tourists could'a learn how to pelt empty plastic bottles into the hole.  Aaah boy, there could'a been vendors o' newspapers and honey-roasted peanuts, and sellers of pink, green and butter-yellow mosquito nets.

But in these here parts, somebody's always tryin' to keep the small man down. 

A jealous saboteur cover up the hole.

For a while, all was tame.

Then two new little holes pop up.

A few weeks gone I pass them in we ol' car, and I swear to you, Dear Readers, they was giggling tee hee hee.  Like they know something we-the-citizens don't know.  I try to listen to what they was snickering about, but they scoot away from me.

As I go along me way, I notice quite a few merry ol' holes all around town. 

Seems there's a hole-y revolution going on or something, I mutter to meself. 

Nosy parker that I am, every time I drive by now, I try to hear what them holes is plotting. 

But all they do is laugh and shake and skitter off.

Aw well, I console meself,  life is a journey and along the way, you gon encounter a whole lot o' holes. Some you gon understand, but some o' them is so deep, you gon think they's discussing philosophy in Argle Bargle, and you gon never know what...