Chilly Berlin

A Short Story
by Gw

Suzanne Bond had always loved chilly Berlin with its charming, cloudy cliffs. It
was a place where she felt unstable.

She was an admirable, tactless, squash drinker with fluffy toes and hairy toenails.
Her friends saw her as a rabblesnatching, rapid rover. Once, she had even helped an
abundant old lady cross the road. That's the sort of woman he was.

Suzanne walked over to the window and reflected on her derelict surroundings. The
wind blew like cooking koalas.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of
Garth Torrance. Garth was a clumsy writer with short toes and solid toenails.

Suzanne gulped. She was not prepared for Garth.

As Suzanne stepped outside and Garth came closer, she could see the cruel glint in
his eye.

"Look Suzanne," growled Garth, with a controlling glare that reminded Suzanne of
clumsy goldfish. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want revenge. You owe me
2002 dollars."

Suzanne looked back, even more sneezy and still fingering the enchanted teapot.
"Garth, you must think I was born yesterday," she replied.

They looked at each other with ambivalent feelings, like two blue, bored blue
bottles talking at a very snotty Christening, which had orchestral music playing in
the background and two snooty uncles chatting to the beat.

Suzanne regarded Garth's short toes and solid toenails. "I don't have the
funds ..." she lied.

Garth glared. "Do you want me to shove that enchanted teapot where the sun don't
shine?"

Suzanne promptly remembered her admirable and tactless values. "Actually, I do have
the funds," she admitted. She reached into her pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Garth looked fuzzy, his wallet blushing like a sneezing, sore sausage.

Then Garth came inside for a nice beaker of squash.

THE END