3-Pack: Racing Chickens or Possums
- What do we even say here
- What could we possibly add
- What could we elucidate with further details
- Nothing, that’s what
The Medi-Oscars
“Say Lloyd, uh, it seems I’m temporarily light,” chuckled Jack as he inspects his wallet. “How’s my credit in this joint anyway?
“Your credit’s fine, Mr. Torrance,” Lloyd replies with a polite smile and an unblinking stare.
“That’s swell,” grinned Jack. “I like you Lloyd, I always liked you.”
Before he could continue, another patron chimed in, “Hey Lloyd, how about mine?”
Lloyd’s turned to look at him and, with the same smile and stare, responded, “Your credit is crap, sir.”
Irk slammed his hands on the bar and stood. “So that’s how it is, huh? I’ll just take my business elsewhere.” He grabbed his jacket and trudged off, leaving Jack to his delusions.
