Contact Sandie

Sandie Plumb looked at the tattered knife in his hands and felt stable.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his surroundings. He had always loved grey New York with its new, nasty hooks. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel stable.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gary Donaldson. Gary was a wild man with dirty hands and dirty words.

Sandie gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a daring, unpredictable, port drinker with charming eyes and wobbly limbs. His friends saw him as a kind, eccentric knight. Once, he had even brought a baby flamingo back from the brink of death.

But not even a daring person who had once brought a baby flamingo back from the brink of death, was prepared for what Gary had in store today.

The clouds danced like smiling horses, making Sandie calm.

As Sandie stepped outside and Gary came closer, he could see the mysterious glint in his eye.

"Look Sandie," growled Gary, with an incredible glare that reminded Sandie of wild flamingos. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a phone number. You owe me."

Sandie looked back, even more shocked and still fingering the tattered knife. "Gary, I've got a new job," he replied.

They looked at each other with sad feelings, like two open, ordinary ostriches jogging at a very down to earth bar mitzvah, which had indie music playing in the background and two hopeful uncles chatting to the beat.

Sandie regarded Gary's dirty hands. "I don't have the contacts..." he lied.

Gary glared. "Do you want me to shove that tattered knife where the sun don't shine?"

Sandie promptly remembered his daring and unpredictable values. "Actually, I do have the contacts," he admitted. He reached into his pocket. "Here's what I owe you."

Gary looked satisfied, his pocket bulging like a obese pig.

Then Gary came inside for a nice glass of port.

THE END