(This is a story stub. I do not plan on completing it anytime soon. Its distinctive lack of humour troubles me.)
‘Hi,’ I said, extending my gloved hands at his naked, outstretched palms as if they were forensic evidence I had come to collect. ‘I’m Trudeau. Are you Trump?’
He nodded slightly, his hair dancing around his face like a horse’s mane whisked around in the winds of a race, and proceeded with great caution to open his mouth. ‘Honestly, we aren’t fooling either of us with these names.’ He looked sloppy, fingers fidgeting, tracing ellipses in the dusty diner air, feet shuffling to reveal footprints on the floor. The way he moved left no doubt that he was a junkie, and had been one for quite some time now, but was he the one I was looking for?
Continue reading “Write Club, October 19, 2019: Humour”