The Sleet that Rained like Walking Owls

A Short Story
by big lux

Phil Johnson looked at the stripy teapot in his hands and felt
lonely.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his damp

surroundings. He had always loved quiet Moscow with its new,
naughty nooks. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to
feel lonely.

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

was the figure of Jeff Blackman. Jeff was a charming god with
hairy toenails and brown thighs.

Phil gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a

hopeful, wild, port drinker with brown toenails and hairy thighs.
His friends saw him as a wooden, wonderful writer. Once, he
had even jumped into a river and saved a flabby owl.

But not even a hopeful person who had once jumped into a
river and saved a flabby owl, was prepared for what Jeff had in
store today.

The sleet rained like walking owls, making Phil concerned.

As Phil stepped outside and Jeff came closer, he could see the
comfortable smile on his face.

Jeff gazed with the affection of 4124 splendid foolish foxes. He

said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want a fight."

Phil looked back, even more concerned and still fingering the
stripy teapot. "Jeff, get out of my house," he replied.
They looked at each other with healthy feelings, like two late,
leaking lizards running at a very snooty bar mitzvah, which had
jazz music playing in the background and two daring uncles
jogging to the beat.

Phil regarded Jeff's hairy toenails and brown thighs. "I feel the
same way!" revealed Phil with a delighted grin.

Jeff looked puzzled, his emotions blushing like a

rabblesnatching, resonant ruler.

Then Jeff came inside for a nice glass of port.

THE END