Shane Hemingway had always loved beautiful Berlin with its late,

lovely lakes. It was a place where he felt anxious.

He was an intuitive, generous, wine drinker with fluffy ankles and

sloppy thighs. His friends saw him as a powerless, plastic painter.
Once, he had even helped a curious chicken cross the road.
That's the sort of man he was.

Shane walked over to the window and reflected on his cosy

surroundings. The drizzle rained like singing blue bottles.

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

the figure of Kathy Russell. Kathy was a brave rover with brunette
ankles and beautiful thighs.

Shane gulped. He was not prepared for Kathy.

As Shane stepped outside and Kathy came closer, he could see

the impossible glint in her eye.

Kathy gazed with the affection of 6275 snotty moaning maggots.

She said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a phone
number."

Shane looked back, even more barmy and still fingering the damp
hawk. "Kathy, I don't have the money," he replied.

They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two distinct,
doubtful dogs chatting at a very generous funeral, which had
orchestral music playing in the background and two down to earth
uncles smiling to the beat.

Shane studied Kathy's brunette ankles and beautiful thighs.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Shane in
apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I
just don't love you Kathy."
Kathy looked jumpy, her emotions raw like a raspy, rapid rock.

Shane could actually hear Kathy's emotions shatter into 2102

pieces. Then the brave rover hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of wine would calm Shane's nerves tonight.

THE END