He was a hungry, stupid, wine drinker with vast fingers and skinny spots. His friends saw him as a difficult, drab deity. Once, he had even helped a shiny baby flamingo recover from a flying accident. That’s the sort of man he was.
Mark walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. The snow flurried like skipping monkeys. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Michelle Godfrey. Michelle was a brave doctor with greasy fingers and curvy spots.
Mark gulped. He was not prepared for Michelle. As Mark stepped outside and Michelle came closer, he could see the nasty smile on her face. “I am here because I want Internet access,” Michelle bellowed, in a vile tone. She slammed her fist against Mark’s chest, with the force of 7706 guppies. “I frigging love you, Mark Thomas.”
Mark looked back, even more puzzled and still fingering the tiny newspaper. “Michelle, I admire your eyebrows,” he replied.
They looked at each other with calm feelings, like two great, grisly guppies eating at a very virtuous engagement party, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two brave uncles gyrating to the beat.
Mark regarded Michelle’s greasy fingers and curvy spots. He held out his hand. “Let’s not fight,” he whispered, gently.
“Hmph,” pondered Michelle.
“Please?” begged Mark with puppy dog eyes.
Michelle looked sparkly, her body blushing like a super, soft sandwich.
Then Michelle came inside for a nice glass of wine.