Kimberly Bond had always hated beautiful Shanghai with its delicious, damaged ditches. It was a place where she felt sneezy.
She was a stable, witty, port drinker with vast spots and fragile moles. Her friends saw her as a vacant, vague vicar. Once, she had even made a cup of tea for a wide-eyed disabled person. That's the sort of woman he was.
Kimberly walked over to the window and reflected on her old-fashioned surroundings. The snow flurried like shouting giraffes.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Andrew Walker. Andrew was a scheming god with short spots and solid moles.
Kimberly gulped. She was not prepared for Andrew.
As Kimberly stepped outside and Andrew came closer, she could see the cautious glint in his eye.
Andrew glared with all the wrath of 8702 incredible troubled toads. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want affection."
Kimberly looked back, even more active and still fingering the squidgy blade. "Andrew, oh my God they killed Kenny," she replied.
They looked at each other with lonely feelings, like two creepy, curious cats eating at a very clever disco, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two daring uncles gyrating to the beat.
Kimberly studied Andrew's short spots and solid moles. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Kimberly in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Andrew."
Andrew looked stressed, his emotions raw like a thoughtless, tasty teapot.
Kimberly could actually hear Andrew's emotions shatter into 4393 pieces. Then the scheming god hurried away into the distance.
Not even a glass of port would calm Kimberly's nerves tonight.
THE END
