Short Stories, Writing


I noticed you like talking about Pretzels a lot so when you returned home I ran to your door in London with a white pretzel. It had been dipped in the milky bar kid, but you shook your head at me. You did not want my pretzel. I thought it was because you just wanted to have a coffee with me and hang out and talk instead. The pretzel would be unnecessary decoration as we got to know each other properly, away from all this technology. But it was because you were attacked by a Pretzel somewhere far above the ocean.

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