The butler escorted John upstairs to the private residence, where an elderly man shuffled across the room to greet him.

“Welcome,” and he motioned for John to sit in the somewhat moist recliner by the fireplace.

John lumbered and grunted and flopped down in the overstuffed recliner.  “Arrgh,” he groaned.

A hunchbacked woman with bleached blonde hair and wearing a hideous flowered dress – a dress whose fabric once covered the curtains in a guest room – leaned over John, rudely invaded his space.  In her hands were a cup of hot coffee and a sugar spoon.  She stared at the bulbous mass on John’s neck as she dipped the spoon into the sugar bowl.

“John, do you want one lump or two?”

©2022 Colcannon Metropolis, Aren’t They Just!, Thoughts from the Terrace on a Rainy Day, Life is Funny, Supreme Theater.

✿●▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬●✿●✿●▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬●✿