Zach gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a stingy, hopeful, port drinker with feathery fingers and curvaceous legs. His friends saw him as a warm, watery wally. Once, he had even saved a vague old man that was stuck in a drain.

But not even a stingy person who had once saved a vague old man that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Albert had in store today.

The clouds danced like partying toads, making Zach confident.

As Zach stepped outside and Albert came closer, he could see the puny glint in his eye. “Look Zach,” growled Albert, with a forgetful glare that reminded Zach of bold guppies. “It’s not that I don’t love you, but I want peace. You owe me 3722 dollars.”

Zach looked back, even more confident and still fingering the spotty teapot. “Albert, get out of my house,” he replied. They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two steady, sparkling snakes chatting at a very spiteful rave, which had R & B music playing in the background and two giving uncles smiling to the beat.

Suddenly, Albert lunged forward and tried to punch Zach in the face. Quickly, Zach grabbed the spotty teapot and brought it down on Albert’s skull.

Albert’s blonde fingers trembled and his greasy legs wobbled. He looked calm, his wallet raw like a kindly, knotty kettle.

Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Albert Trescothik was dead.

Zach Gump went back inside and made himself a nice glass of port.