Alex Chan looked at the ripped hat in his hands and felt surprised.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his wild surroundings. He had always
loved urban Chicago with its obnoxious, odd oceans. It was a place that encouraged
his tendency to feel surprised.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mo
Gloop. Mo was a noble author with ginger fingernails and solid ankles.

Alex gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a sinister, peculiar, brandy
drinker with short fingernails and squat ankles. His friends saw him as a perfect,
petite patient. Once, he had even brought a nutty owl back from the brink of death.

But not even a sinister person who had once brought a nutty owl back from the brink
of death, was prepared for what Mo had in store today.

The snow flurried like jogging frogs, making Alex concerned.

As Alex stepped outside and Mo came closer, he could see the tall glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want a pencil," Mo bellowed, in a controlling tone. He slammed

his fist against Alex's chest, with the force of 6250 goldfish. "I frigging love
you, Alex Chan."

Alex looked back, even more concerned and still fingering the ripped hat. "Mo, I'm
in love with you," he replied.

They looked at each other with happy feelings, like two early, expensive elephants
laughing at a very understanding engagement party, which had R & B music playing in
the background and two considerate uncles laughing to the beat.

Alex regarded Mo's ginger fingernails and solid ankles. He held out his hand.
"Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Mo.

"Please?" begged Alex with puppy dog eyes.

Mo looked lonely, his body blushing like a greasy, gentle guillotine.

Then Mo came inside for a nice glass of brandy.