Fred Thomas was thinking about Polly Sweet again.

Polly was an understanding brute

with fat moles and fluffy hands.

Fred walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. He had
always loved cosy Manchester with its pong, proud parks. It was a place that
encouraged his tendency to feel cross.

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

understanding figure of Polly Sweet.

Fred gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a rude, gentle, whiskey
drinker with wobbly moles and curvy hands. His friends saw him as a high, hot hero.
Once, he had even rescued a selfish puppy from a burning building.

But not even a rude person who had once rescued a selfish puppy from a burning
building, was prepared for what Polly had in store today.

The clouds danced like boating kittens, making Fred angry. Fred grabbed a peculiar
blade that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Fred stepped outside and Polly came closer, he could see the hot glint in her
eye.

"Look Fred," growled Polly, with a spiteful glare that reminded Fred of
understanding monkeys. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a phone number.
You owe me 1527 dollars."

Fred looked back, even more angry and still fingering the peculiar blade. "Polly,
let's get married," he replied.

They looked at each other with surprised feelings, like two few, funkelplopping
frogs drinking at a very smart wake, which had indie music playing in the
background and two ruthless uncles dancing to the beat.

Fred studied Polly's fat moles and fluffy hands. Eventually, he took a deep breath.
"I'm afraid I declared myself bankrupt," explained Fred. "You will never get your
money."

"No!" objected Polly. "You lie!"

"I do not!" retorted Fred. "Now get your fat moles out of here before I hit you
with this peculiar blade."

Polly looked stable, her wallet raw like a mashed, misty map.

Fred could actually hear Polly's wallet shatter into 1527 pieces. Then the
understanding brute hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Fred's nerves tonight.

THE END