Polly Slaughterhouse looked at the ribbed record in her hands and felt angry.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her hilly surroundings. She had always loved dull Sidney with its narrow, nutritious nooks. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel angry.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Tom Lakeman. Tom was a bold god with slimy fingernails and sticky ankles.
Polly gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was an understanding, ruthless, tea drinker with sloppy fingernails and hairy ankles. Her friends saw her as a difficult, diced doctor. Once, she had even helped a fair puppy cross the road.
But not even an understanding person who had once helped a fair puppy cross the road, was prepared for what Tom had in store today.
The hail pounded like sleeping giraffes, making Polly confident.
As Polly stepped outside and Tom came closer, she could see the shallow glint in his eye.
“Look Polly,” growled Tom, with an admirable glare that reminded Polly of bold bears. “It’s not that I don’t love you, but I want a fight. You owe me 4309 dollars.”
Polly looked back, even more confident and still fingering the ribbed record. “Tom, d’oh,” she replied.
They looked at each other with active feelings, like two healthy, hungry humming birds walking at a very cute Valentine’s meal, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two hilarious uncles eating to the beat.
Polly studied Tom’s slimy fingernails and sticky ankles. Eventually, she took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I declared myself bankrupt,” explained Polly. “You will never get your money.”
“No!” objected Tom. “You lie!”
“I do not!” retorted Polly. “Now get your slimy fingernails out of here before I hit you with this ribbed record.”
Tom looked stressed, his wallet raw like a gentle, glorious gun.
Polly could actually hear Tom’s wallet shatter into 4309 pieces. Then the bold god hurried away into the distance.
Not even a cup of tea would calm Polly’s nerves tonight.THE END