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After spending the day at Lucky’s I was in a
hurry to get home. Deciding to risk the shortcut through the
Lane I looked carefully around for any sign of that beast
Killer. The coast appeared to be clear but, just as I reached
the end of the lane, Killer leapt down from a wall and almost
landed on top of me.
“You puny little scumbag,” he hissed
cordially. “Do you think you can get away with stealing my
girlfriend?”
“I . . I . . I don’t know wh . . wh . . what
you mean,” I protested.
“So you deny your love for Snowball, you
coward,” he hissed.
“We are only special-friends,” I whimpered.
“We shall fight to the death,” he announced.
“The winner gets Snowball.”
“No need to fight,” I assured him bravely.
“You can have Snowball.”
“Okay,” he replied. “I will have Snowball . .
. but we still fight to the death.”
“Could we possibly do it tomorrow?” I said.
“I really have a dreadful headache right now and I wouldn’t like
to die with a headache.”
“Tomorrow? . . . Okay tomorrow at midday.”
My greatest inspiration sometimes comes at
the most unexpected of times. That’s the odd thing about being a
genius. This was one of those times. A brilliant plan for saving
my life popped into my head.
“It’s my right to decide where we fight,” I
bluffed.
“I’m happy to kill you anywhere,” he sneered.
“Okay, let’s fight in my garden,” I said. “Be
there by twelve.”
I gave him the address and hurried off.
When I got home I stuck my head through the
garden fence. “Hey, short legs,” I yelled, “I’m going to
pulverize you. Be in your garden at five past twelve tomorrow -
if you dare!”
Brutus snarled an unintelligible reply which
I assume was his dim-witted way of saying “Yes, my dear neighbor
I would indeed like to rip your head off in a fight and will
certainly meet you at the prescribed time”.
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