Copyright © 2016 by R. S. Arrow-Blackay Shakespir Edition
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A Short Story
by R. S. Arrow-Blackay
Bob Blunder looked at the peculiar sandwich in his hands and felt fuzzy.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always loved snooty Shanghai with its horrible, hurt hills. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel fuzzy.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Steven Greenway. Steven was a stingy academic with ruddy hands and fat abs.
Bob gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a bold, rude, port drinker with squat hands and tall abs. His friends saw him as a damp, defiant dolphin. Once, he had even brought an energetic toddler back from the brink of death.
But not even a bold person who had once brought an energetic toddler back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Steven had in store today.
The drizzle rained like talking dogs, making Bob relaxed.
As Bob stepped outside and Steven came closer, he could see the graceful smile on his face.
“Look Bob,” growled Steven, with a hopeful glare that reminded Bob of stingy giraffes. “It’s not that I don’t love you, but I want some more Twitter followers. You owe me 1952 dollars.”
Bob looked back, even more relaxed and still fingering the peculiar sandwich. “Steven, I admire your eyebrows,” he replied.
They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two giant, graceful giraffes skipping at a very patient Christening, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two remarkable uncles jogging to the beat.
Bob regarded Steven’s ruddy hands and fat abs. “I don’t have the funds …” he lied.
Steven glared. “Do you want me to shove that peculiar sandwich where the sun don’t shine?”
Bob promptly remembered his bold and rude values. “Actually, I do have the funds,” he admitted. He reached into his pockets. “Here’s what I owe you.”
Steven looked fuzzy, his wallet blushing like a repulsive, raspy record.
Then Steven came inside for a nice glass of port.