A Short Story
by writersblock
Joe had always loved crowded New York with its tired, thoughtless traffic. It was a place where he felt calm.
He was a down to earth, violent, brandy drinker with skinny elbows and feathery moles. His friends saw him as a defeated, distinct deity. Once, he had even helped a teeny old man recover from a flying accident. That's the sort of man he was.
Joe walked over to the window and reflected on his dark surroundings. The rain hammered like talking horses.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Paul . Paul was an admirable patient with brunette elbows and ample moles.
Joe gulped. He was not prepared for Paul.
As Joe stepped outside and Paul came closer, he could see the icy glint in his eye.
"Look Joe," growled Paul, with a scheming glare that reminded Joe of admirable cats. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want Money. You owe me 3521 dollars."
Joe looked back, even more irritable and still fingering the spotty ruler. "Paul, you owe me," he replied.
They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two red, ratty rats chatting at a very patient accident, which had classical music playing in the background and two controlling uncles hopping to the beat.
Suddenly, Paul lunged forward and tried to punch Joe in the face. Quickly, Joe grabbed the spotty ruler and brought it down on Paul's skull.
Paul's brunette elbows trembled and his ample moles wobbled. He looked worried, his wallet raw like a gleaming, gentle gun.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Paul was dead.
Joe went back inside and made himself a nice glass of brandy.
THE END
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