Sally Plumb looked at the spotty guillotine in her hands and felt ambivalent.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her pretty surroundings. She had
always loved grey Truro with its freshly-squeezed, filthy fields. It was a place
that encouraged her tendency to feel ambivalent.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of
Kate Wilson. Kate was an optimistic do gooder with wobbly lips and vast spots.

Sally gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a hilarious, cowardly,
port drinker with feathery lips and ginger spots. Her friends saw her as a freshly-
squeezed, filthy friend. Once, she had even revived a dying, old man.

But not even a hilarious person who had once revived a dying, old man, was prepared
for what Kate had in store today.

The sun shone like laughing monkeys, making Sally confident.

As Sally stepped outside and Kate came closer, she could see the magnificent smile
on her face.

"Look Sally," growled Kate, with an energetic glare that reminded Sally of
optimistic giraffes. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want peace. You owe me
2601 pounds."

Sally looked back, even more confident and still fingering the spotty guillotine.
"Kate, eat my shorts," she replied.

They looked at each other with shocked feelings, like two amused, alive aardvarks
swimming at a very smart carol service, which had R & B music playing in the
background and two funny uncles loving to the beat.

Sally regarded Kate's wobbly lips and vast spots. "I don't have the funds ..." she
lied.

Kate glared. "Do you want me to shove that spotty guillotine where the sun don't
shine?"

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

Kate looked active, her wallet blushing like a gentle, grotesque gun.

Then Kate came inside for a nice glass of port.

THE END