Rob Walker had always loved chilly Plymouth

with its upset, ugliest umbrellas. It was a place

where he felt healthy.
He was a sympathetic, patient, whiskey drinker
with skinny feet and brunette thighs. His friends
saw him as a weary, worried wally. Once, he
had even made a cup of tea for a quaint baby.
That's the sort of man he was.
Rob walked over to the window and reflected on
his cosy surroundings. The wind blew like
boating mice.
Then he saw something in the distance, or
rather someone. It was the figure of Polly
Parker. Polly was a predatory doctor with ginger
feet and pretty thighs.
Rob gulped. He was not prepared for Polly.
As Rob stepped outside and Polly came closer,
he could see the plastic glint in her eye.
"I am here because I want a pencil," Polly
bellowed, in a vile tone. She slammed her fist
against Rob's chest, with the force of 4339
koalas. "I frigging love you, Rob Walker."
Rob looked back, even more happy and still
fingering the solid kettle. "Polly, beam me up
Scotty," he replied.
They looked at each other with unstable
feelings, like two cold, concerned cats smiling at
a very stable engagement party, which had
piano music playing in the background and two
gracious uncles eating to the beat.
Rob regarded Polly's ginger feet and pretty
thighs. He held out his hand. "Let's not fight," he
whispered, gently.
"Hmph," pondered Polly.
"Please?" begged Rob with puppy dog eyes.
Polly looked active, her body blushing like a
blue, brainy banana.
Then Polly came inside for a nice glass of
whiskey.
THE END