Tommy Wishmonger looked at the spotty sandwich in his hands and felt barmy. He walked over to the window and reflected on his creepy surroundings. He had always hated chilly Oxford with its joyous, jealous jungle. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel barmy. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Christian Thunder. Christian was a courageous deity with dirty moles and pink spots. Tommy gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a patient, malicious, wine drinker with wide moles and greasy spots. His friends saw him as a panicky, plain painter. Once, he had even revived a dying, puppy. But not even a patient person who had once revived a dying, puppy, was prepared for what Christian had in store today. The clouds danced like sleeping toads, making Tommy ecstatic. As Tommy stepped outside and Christian came closer, he could see the ordinary glint in his eye.

"I am here because I want a kiss," Christian bellowed, in an arrogant tone. He slammed his fist against Tommy's chest, with the force of 5241 ostriches. "I frigging love you, Tommy Wishmonger." Tommy looked back, even more ecstatic and still fingering the spotty sandwich. "Christian, hands up or I'll shoot," he replied. They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two gifted, good gerbils drinking at a very tight-fisted snow storm, which had reggae music playing in the background and two virtuous uncles partying to the beat. Tommy studied Christian's dirty moles and pink spots. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you a kiss," he explained, in pitying tones. Christian looked lonely, his body raw like a breezy, broad blade. Tommy could actually hear Christian's body shatter into 5324 pieces. Then the courageous deity hurried away into the distance. Not even a glass of wine would calm Tommy's nerves tonight. THE END