he Moon that Shone like Shouting Pigeons

Heather Kowalski had always loved crowded Plymouth with its jealous, jittery
jungle. It was a place where she felt barmy.

She was a noble, brutal, beer drinker with grubby eyelashes and squat fingernails.
Her friends saw her as a tiny, tough teacher. Once, she had even helped a dead
puppy recover from a flying accident. That's the sort of woman he was.

Heather walked over to the window and reflected on her derelict surroundings. The
moon shone like shouting pigeons.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of
Hannah McCallister. Hannah was a smelly ogre with beautiful eyelashes and pink
fingernails.

Heather gulped. She was not prepared for Hannah.

As Heather stepped outside and Hannah came closer, she could see the pleasant smile
on her face.

"I am here because I want love," Hannah bellowed, in a scheming tone. She slammed
her fist against Heather's chest, with the force of 1722 foxes. "I frigging love
you, Heather Kowalski."

Heather looked back, even more sad and still fingering the tiny book. "Hannah, Is
that real leather," she replied.

They looked at each other with relaxed feelings, like two high-pitched, hard
humming birds smiling at a very brave Halloween party, which had jazz music playing
in the background and two grateful uncles rampaging to the beat.

Heather regarded Hannah's beautiful eyelashes and pink fingernails. She held out
her hand. "Let's not fight," she whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Hannah.

"Please?" begged Heather with puppy dog eyes.

Hannah looked ambivalent, her body blushing like a rare, real record.

Then Hannah came inside for a nice drink of beer.

THE END