“i got up really early today,” max said, settling on the barstool next to me. he propped his elbow onto the bar and put his head in his hand. “so i’m really tired.”
“why’d you get up so early?” i asked.
“i tried to trap a leprechaun.”
“what?”
“i wanted to catch a leprechaun.”
“why?”
“because i never met a leprechaun before,” he said. “but all he did was put my dad’s gnome in the trap and leave a note that said ‘ha ha ha.'”
“that’s too bad.”
i didn’t have the heart to tell max that his leprechaun had been at the bowling alley last night:
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A cigarette-smoking leprechaun with black nails and chains on its boots.
Riiiiiight.
why not write a short story about a lonely girl who likes to blog shit that noone really cares to know about?
or how about i write a story about the bitter person who has nothing to do but read the blog of a lonely girl who writes about shit nobody cares about?