Dirty Sleepford

A Short Story
by John Doe

Matt Meadows looked at the weathered piano in his hands and felt
barmy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings.

He had always loved dirty Sleepford with its graceful, grubby gates. It
was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel barmy.

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

figure of John Lakeman. John was a down to earth lover with wobbly
thighs and grubby spots.

Matt gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a lovable,

adorable, port drinker with fat thighs and ginger spots. His friends saw
him as a plastic, perfect patient. Once, he had even brought a charming
blind person back from the brink of death.

But not even a lovable person who had once brought a charming blind
person back from the brink of death, was prepared for what John had in
store today.

The sleet rained like bopping bears, making Matt jumpy.

As Matt stepped outside and John came closer, he could see the grated
glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want peace," John bellowed, in a proud tone. He

slammed his fist against Matt's chest, with the force of 4094 blue bottles.
"I frigging love you, Matt Meadows."

Matt looked back, even more jumpy and still fingering the weathered
piano. "John, let's get married," he replied.

They looked at each other with calm feelings, like two terrible, tasty
tortoises chatting at a very arrogant dinner party, which had piano music
playing in the background and two mean uncles cooking to the beat.

Matt regarded John's wobbly thighs and grubby spots. He held out his
hand. "Let's not fight," he whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered John.

"Please?" begged Matt with puppy dog eyes.

John looked jumpy, his body blushing like a grubby, gleaming gun.
Then John came inside for a nice glass of port.

THE END

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