In. I haven't picked a log yet. I'll probably end up laying one and calling it a story though.
edit: Rain kills everything it lands on
Masonity fucked around with this message at 20:27 on Jan 8, 2016
|# ¿ Jan 5, 2016 20:29|
|# ¿ May 26, 2022 18:06|
Okay, picked my pick.
Rain kills everything it lands on
edited my original entry with it too. Not sure which was the right thing to do so I just went and did both.
|# ¿ Jan 8, 2016 20:29|
The Umbrella Man
Rain touches everything it lands on
"'Ere, Sir, You ain't goin out there without a brolly are ya?"
And that's how I met Mr. Gibbons. Kings Cross Station. I'd got the fast train from the airport. Anyway, as I was saying...
"Why wouldn't I?" I asked.
"The Beeb said it's gonna rain later." he explained. "Don't wanna be getting wet!"
I looked at the man as if he was a complete idiot. "What do you mean?" I asked. "It's just a bit of rain!"
"New round 'ere, ain't ya?" He replied. "Obviously ain't 'eard of the Acid Rain."
"Acid rain?" I replied. "Wasn't that a big deal in the nineties? Turned out it damaged a few statues maybe?"
"Nope. Kills ya. Flat dead!"
"Ridiculous!" I said, buttoning up my coat. "If people were being killed by the rain, it'd be all over the news!"
"It is, 'ere!" He offered, shuffling around, placing himself between me and the exits. "You yanks prob'ly don't care though. Long as it ain't in your back yard! 'Ere, my mate Dave got caught out the other night. Tried makin' a run for it. A light shower, that's all it took." he sighed, taking his cap off and holding it over his left breast. "Dead as a doornail. You go tell 'is wife it's a load of tosh."
"Okay, how much do you want?" I sighed. At least I'd get a good story out of it.
"One of them pink notes'll do nicely!" He tried.
"Fifty pounds? For an umbrella?" I asked, clutching my wallet.
"Can't put a price on safety" he tried.
At that point, I shook my head, swerved around him and headed for the door.
"You know what? I like you. Don't wanna see you dead from acid rain. Thirty quid and it's yours?" He said, half-jogging behind me.
"I'll give you ten?" I tried, not breaking my stride. The doors loomed closer and closer as I waited for him reply.
"Ten? They cost me more'n that!" he finally answered, catching my sleeve. "'Ere, look. Twenty and I'm coverin' me costs. There's thunder in the air. I can smell it!"
I shook my head, pulled my arm away and reached for the door. There was a sudden flash, then a few seconds later a distant grumble. The scene outside morphed. Gone were the hurried but polite commuters, instead replaced by a crazed mob. Everyone seemed to be darting for cover, pushing their way into the tube station, crowding under the awnings of nearby shops, one man even hopped over the counter of a newspaper kiosk. A few brave souls, umbrellas held before them, carried on as if nothing had changed. I spun around and found my former assailant. "Here's your twenty!" I declared, trying to push a crisp new note into his hands.
"Sorry guv', deal's changed. I 'ave limited stock, and these lot 'ere'll give anything to get 'ome safe!"
So friends, that's how I went to London to seal the Peterson deal, and came back with our new head of International Sales! I'm proud to introduce Mr. Terry Gibbons.
|# ¿ Jan 11, 2016 00:10|
After running out of time last week and basically spewing out something that would have struggled in a benny the snake week, it's only right I throw my hat back in the ring. Nothing to lose now!
Give me some Bowie love too please sittinghere. Three times the words might mean I can write something three times as bad?
|# ¿ Jan 12, 2016 23:19|