The Solid Hawk

Pete Ferguson looked at the solid hawk in his hands and felt irritable.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his chilly surroundings. He had
always loved noisy Sydney with its numerous, nutritious nooks. It was a place that
encouraged his tendency to feel irritable.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Beth
Bishop. Beth was a brutal wally with sloppy eyelashes and squat lips.

Pete gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a lovable, witty, tea drinker
with pretty eyelashes and dirty lips. His friends saw him as an average,
adventurous angel. Once, he had even helped a colorful chicken cross the road.

But not even a lovable person who had once helped a colorful chicken cross the
road, was prepared for what Beth had in store today.

The wind blew like walking kittens, making Pete unstable.

As Pete stepped outside and Beth came closer, he could see the melodic smile on her
face.

"I am here because I want Internet access," Beth bellowed, in a brutal tone. She
slammed her fist against Pete's chest, with the force of 3898 toads. "I frigging
love you, Pete Ferguson."

Pete looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the solid hawk. "Beth, Is
that real leather," he replied.

They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two magnificent, mammoth
maggots jumping at a very delightful disco, which had flute music playing in the
background and two brave uncles bopping to the beat.

Pete regarded Beth's sloppy eyelashes and squat lips. He held out his hand. "Let's
not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Beth.

"Please?" begged Pete with puppy dog eyes.

Beth looked jumpy, her body blushing like a rabblesnatching, round record.

Then Beth came inside for a nice cup of tea.

THE END