“The facts were these—,” he started.
“Please stop—,” she ended.
“She was—,” he began.
“That is so cliche, I’m trying to concentrate, please,” she closed, the sky darkened, and she could feel two eyes boring into her back. She did not turn. She knew the exact look she was getting, the all too predictable change in atmosphere. Instead, she said: “Fine.”
“She was positively miffed, if not outright angered. Though she was well past counting by twos, here she tied her shoes ‘bunny style’ while she tried to assess the situation. They had found themselves outside of a bodega of sorts, in a vague-a-ly deserted town,” he opened, sipping noisily at the last bit of Ginger Ale in his can. He had suggested they shop lift the snacks in order to spice things up, but she set her money down on the counter and insisted that ‘neither of us really walk the walk’.
They had walked the walk, however, two miles before catching a bus out of town.
“Vague-a-ly? Really?,” she replied, her eyebrow as poised as a sword or something similarly phallic, dusting off her stockings, adjusting the wings on her boots.
“I’m just making things easier on my replacement, you know? Smooth things over so no one gets mad. I didn’t exactly leave a two week notice, and it wasn’t exactly a ‘quitting’ job. Train the temp, as it were. No need to feel nervous when there’s no standard, is there? IS THERE,” he shouted toward the sky.