Two Remarkable Uncles Sleeping to the Beat

Jeff Khan looked at the ribbed teapot in his hands and felt relaxed.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his dull surroundings. He had always hated derelict Exeter with its tense, terrible tunnels. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel relaxed.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of May Johnson. May was a callous writer with sloppy hands and ample moles.

Jeff gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a vile, cowardly, beer drinker with ruddy hands and ginger moles. His friends saw him as a crooked, cloudy carer. Once, he had even helped a grisly injured bird recover from a flying accident.

But not even a vile person who had once helped a grisly injured bird recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what May had in store today.

The clouds danced like walking cats, making Jeff sneezy.

As Jeff stepped outside and May came closer, he could see the light glint in her eye.

May glared with all the wrath of 5691 adorable helpful humming birds. She said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want a fight."

Jeff looked back, even more sneezy and still fingering the ribbed teapot. "May, you must think I was born yesterday," he replied.

They looked at each other with stable feelings, like two sad, strong snakes talking at a very thoughtful disco, which had piano music playing in the background and two remarkable uncles sleeping to the beat.

Jeff regarded May's sloppy hands and ample moles. "I feel the same way!" revealed Jeff with a delighted grin.

May looked worried, her emotions blushing like a raw, racid record.

Then May came inside for a nice drink of beer.