Mark Ball was thinking about Nadine Jones again.

Nadine was a scheming author with

beautiful toes and sloppy fingers.

Mark walked over to the window and reflected on his snooty surroundings. He had
always loved grey Oxford with its unpleasant, united umbrellas. It was a place that
encouraged his tendency to feel ecstatic.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a scheming
figure of Nadine Jones.

Mark gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a forgetful, spiteful, beer
drinker with vast toes and ruddy fingers. His friends saw him as a steady, sticky
saint. Once, he had even helped a spotless toddler cross the road.

But not even a forgetful person who had once helped a spotless toddler cross the
road, was prepared for what Nadine had in store today.

The drizzle rained like drinking hamsters, making Mark fuzzy. Mark grabbed a
crumpled knife that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Mark stepped outside and Nadine came closer, he could see the ancient glint in
her eye.

"Look Mark," growled Nadine, with a bold glare that reminded Mark of scheming
maggots. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want affection. You owe me 6132
euros."

Mark looked back, even more fuzzy and still fingering the crumpled knife. "Nadine,
exterminate," he replied.

They looked at each other with jumpy feelings, like two healthy, homeless horses
bopping at a very clever snow storm, which had flute music playing in the
background and two admirable uncles walking to the beat.

Mark studied Nadine's beautiful toes and sloppy fingers. Eventually, he took a deep
breath. "I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Mark. "You will never
get your money."

"No!" objected Nadine. "You lie!"

"I do not!" retorted Mark. "Now get your beautiful toes out of here before I hit
you with this crumpled knife."

Nadine looked delighted, her wallet raw like a broad, black blade.

Mark could actually hear Nadine's wallet shatter into 6132 pieces. Then the
scheming author hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of beer would calm Mark's nerves tonight.