The Sleet that Rained like Jumping Flamingos

A Short Story
by Mr Pseudonym
Doris Torrance had always loved grey Shanghai with its quirky, quickest
quarries. It was a place where she felt angry.
She was a loving, virtuous, beer drinker with greasy lips and ruddy thighs.
Her friends saw her as a graceful, gigantic god. Once, she had even helped
an odd old man recover from a flying accident. That's the sort of woman he
was.
Doris walked over to the window and reflected on her quiet surroundings.
The sleet rained like jumping flamingos.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the
figure of Bob Randall. Bob was a proud volcano with spiky lips and solid
thighs.
Doris gulped. She was not prepared for Bob.
As Doris stepped outside and Bob came closer, she could see the depressed
glint in his eye.
"Look Doris," growled Bob, with a noble glare that reminded Doris of
proud goldfish. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a wifi code. You
owe me 2846 pounds."
Doris looked back, even more healthy and still fingering the giant record.
"Bob, let's move in together," she replied.
They looked at each other with calm feelings, like two gigantic, grisly
guppies cooking at a very sweet engagement party, which had trance music
playing in the background and two thoughtless uncles rampaging to the
beat.
Doris regarded Bob's spiky lips and solid thighs. "I don't have the funds ..."
she lied.
Bob glared. "Do you want me to shove that giant record where the sun don't
shine?"
Doris promptly remembered her loving and virtuous values. "Actually, I do
have the funds," she admitted. She reached into her pockets. "Here's what I
owe you."
Bob looked worried, his wallet blushing like a naughty, noisy newspaper.
Then Bob came inside for a nice drink of beer.
THE END