Piston_Broke sighed. It wasn't the disappointment any more - this had happened too many times for that -it was more the crushing predictability. The inevitability.
He picked up his fork in his left hand and mournfully began to consume his Bombay Bad Boy pot noodle. From time to time he gazed sadly at his other arm and the empty sleeve in which it terminated. His right hand had stood him up again.
(
Mr. Tea 'ulmmm'/'mmneurgh', Thu 22 Mar 2012, 11:50,
archived)
