Patricia Humble looked at the minuscule sandwich in her hands

and felt confident.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her

picturesque surroundings. She had always loved wild Moscow
with its black, big beaches. It was a place that encouraged her
tendency to feel confident.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It

was the figure of Jack Connor. Jack was a delightful banker
with spiky eyes and slimy fingernails.

Patricia gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a

tactless, courageous, whiskey drinker with solid eyes and
ample fingernails. Her friends saw her as a determined, deadly
doctor. Once, she had even revived a dying, chicken.

But not even a tactless person who had once revived a dying,
chicken, was prepared for what Jack had in store today.

The hail pounded like swimming snakes, making Patricia fuzzy.

As Patricia stepped outside and Jack came closer, she could

see the beautiful glint in his eye.

"Look Patricia," growled Jack, with a special glare that

reminded Patricia of delightful donkeys. "It's not that I don't love
you, but I want a pencil. You owe me 4096 dollars."

Patricia looked back, even more fuzzy and still fingering the
minuscule sandwich. "Jack, oh my God they killed Kenny," she
replied.

They looked at each other with confident feelings, like two

ordinary, obedient owls skipping at a very gentle disco, which
had classical music playing in the background and two loving
uncles eating to the beat.
Patricia regarded Jack's spiky eyes and slimy fingernails. "I
don't have the funds ..." she lied.

Jack glared. "Do you want me to shove that minuscule

sandwich where the sun don't shine?"

Patricia promptly remembered her tactless and courageous

values. "Actually, I do have the funds," she admitted. She
reached into her pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Jack looked lonely, his wallet blushing like a brave, bulbous

blade.

Then Jack came inside for a nice glass of whiskey.

THE END