The Puppy in Pesos

A Sign.

Kamila’s latest Designer bag acquisition had made her trip that morning and spill the coffee on her report.

Tiffany’s had only hired her because the Shorthand skills made her shine amongst all the other glamour-seekers, and they had even sponsored an accent softening course- just to add another humiliating milestone onto her CV.

To mingle with the team, online shopping with seven credit cards, along with photoshopped fake holiday snaps and jewellery bought off special bonus vouchers, all kept the adrenaline pumping and the debt collectors “bomb-mail”- as she liked to call it- coming in.

A week before one hot debt collector, Mark Stronner- she later found out this wasn’t his real name- had given in to all of her whining, crying, and quoting her dead grandmother just to carry out his plan.

Now he was hot. He told her he put his job at risk just to not spring clean her cosy bungalow. Always on time, answering whattsapps and popping by the dry cleaners’ to collect her non-matching suits, her grandmother would have been proud of her.

And he didn’t want to get intimate yet, because he “respected her so much”. The stupid strawberry blonde.

He was giving her gold-value information to dodge the bailiffs and to make her hair thicker with Organix shampoo, and crushing ice on it before using the blow-dryer. He loved this crushing ice bit on her mid-length hair, and she felt like a real cave-woman while he smashed it. That’s all the bodily interaction they got- so far.

 

A blonde with a dream, and a lazy bum with an even bigger dream. It added up to an unbalanced deal. But who was going to win?

One night Kamila’s grandmother appeared in her dreams again. She was whipping Mark with a rod like in the old days, with all her might- and Mark was giggling “don’t tickle me, stop tickling me nan!”. A Whattsapp from him woke her up- he wanted to meet by the river, at a particular place where there’s was lots of controversial graffiti. It was a CCTV dead corner.

So she called in the call centre for her first sickie. Now. Yes. She was excited. He was there talking to a hoodie who didn’t even bother to scan her and left on his bike as soon as Mark made some sort of gang-like sign.

Mark was serious. He looked like he was resisting to kiss her. They sat on the steps after he checked no one was coming by. He didn’t ask her how she was- yet even noticed the new Coach bag she got. Nor a  neon blue new streak on her forehead that cost her seventy quid.

Straight to the point. The destination was Colombia. They were going to go on a guaqueros journey, i.e digging graves for a treasure. He didn’t ask for her approval. It came across to her as a honeymoon gift from him. He marked the date and both their initials on a wall. Wow. The fool. The strawberry fool.

 

*     *     *

The journey to Cali felt as quick as a flash as he had packed little more than her blow-dryer and a desert kit. As they got to the Airport, a ridiculous hat he forced her to buy and wear was enough for her to say “for my Grandmother’s breathe!” out loud and make him laugh in a way he hadn’t before.

As they finally found their contact in the suburbs of Juanchito, Kamila and Mark stroke a connection while she took pictures of him smoking nervously and not being able to decide weather to eat gum, smoke or bite his nails. The contact called her “Mami” and Mark knew this business was going to go well.

But as Mark met him again for dinner- this time without Kamila, who wanted to defrizz her hair from the plane- Mark was tempted by the sexiest, most charming and eloquent devil-who-would-deliver.

They were going to become  Drugs Mules.

“What about the grave-digging? No time for that. Next time. Not good time of the year.”

“But that’s not what Rhonnie said?”

“You shut up you’re in my territory- if you don’t want me to get your girl pregnant with el Chupacabras.”

When he got back to the Hotel, with no cigarettes left, he found Kamila checking through his passport.

“Where’s the cigarettes?”

“Whose cigarettes? Mark Stronner’s or Adam Moland’s?”

“Don’t try to be clever because I’ve grown fond of you now. Where’s my cigarettes?”

” Mark, I just want you to tell me it’s not something nasty you’ve done before changing your name”

“We’ll have time for that. Hey! Your hair looks great. Here they are, the cigarettes. Lets go get some pics done. It’s like a boxer’s sauna in here.” He kissed her on the forehead for the first time and took that ridiculous hat off her head.

“I’m gonna teach ya how to set boundaries, Mami. You’re grandmother aint here to watch over you anymore.”

*     *     *

As she tied her hair in a messy, prove-the-point bun and showed a feather-lighe interest towards his life story, Adam- not Mark-  made a full confession, which was nothing to be seen on crime watch. Just a kiddo wanting to be Pablo Escobar in Hackney then finding his own was to pay the bills.

He stopped and bought her an indigenous necklace.

“You look great to me like this. Post it in Instagram, see how many likes you get. You don’t need that Tiffany mechanic gear no more. Here, dare to ditch that gold in the sewer.”

 

She pretended she did but with a trick her grandmother taught her she sneaked the gold inside her shoe.

 

As they got to the Hotel, and the likes on Instagram were popping, they found the door open and a stuffed Chupacabras toy.

 

“Don’t ask questions, we’re catching to first plane to London tomorrow.”He said.

“How about the grave-digging?”

“You wouldn’t like someone digging into your nan’s grave in three hundred years’ time, would you?”

They went to sleep again with no body contact. Only in the morning, she found him with his arms curled around her when the smartphone melody started off.

 

*    *    *

The events at the airport were like falling off a rollercoaster and getting caught at the last minute by a drone. At customs, a massively wide female security officer asked whose the Chupacabras was. A new alter ego emerged from the glamour-ridden girl

“It’s my grandmother’s, Mami”.

The big woman asked whose the jewels were. She said

“It’s the Chupacabras”.

 

“Aqui Ustedes se separan” Meaning in Spanish they would be split there.

 

A Shar-Pei puppy sniffing Kamila’s terror in the cell became extremely friendly with her. All charges dropped. The security officer had asked the girl if she could have the teardrop opal earrings for her granddaughter.

She also said Mark had gone into a fit while begging the officers to let “his girl free” and that the officers made a jolly good thirty minutes’s fun while torturing his mind.

 

As they ran along the gates with the officers not to miss the plane, Mark (or Adam) couldn’t stop sobbing as Kamila was dragging him “Come on, you can run!”

 

It was the last minute and as a fact of destiny the star-pei puppy sneaked onto the plane. Nobody had noticed under all that confusion.

 

It was only when the plane was high up in the sky away from the sight of all the chupacabras that the puppy jumped onto the lucky couple’s lap and licked Mark’s tears off.

“It’s going to be a long journey, Mark.”

“Yes, and as soon as we get to London I wanna get rid of that chupacabras toy.”

“And I want to get of the blow-dryer”

“But not the puppy!” They both cried.

 

The End.

More humour here.

 

 

 

 

Magic Tomatoes

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Abi was about to become the last person in Pimlico Village, London, to give up on Fix.

Yes, he was the local grocer who sold him forty small plastic bags everyday for Fix to stuff weed in, the very despicable mature man who felt that any minute Allah was to punish him with lightening for exchanging his pound coins for notes- just for the buzz he felt when being called ” boss” every night.

That very morning Abi had done his morning prayer in the same stolen t-shirt bought off from Fix, this notorious fifteen year old who had even made his mother ill.

A new stock of cherry tomatoes was dumped by the delivery man.

” These are the smaller version of myself!” said Lesly Windrum, the enlightened old schizophrenic from the third floor upstairs.

Hearing this, Abi dropped the customer’s change all over, and the lights flickered again. The electrician was four hours late already.

This was a message from Allah. So he viciously hid the tomato case behind the counter. Then he looked at his watch. It was a Hugo Boss that Fix had sold to him- and it hurt Ali’s eyes.

It was going to be a long day til Fix turned up at his shop, whispering “hello, Boss. Anything for me?”

But as Destiny has it’s own funny way of synchronizing, Fix turned up at 4 PM. He needed baby milk again for his secret son or Suzy, the betrayed mother, would give his name to the Doctor and reveal his fatherhood.

Fix had that smile on him, this different kinda a smile he only put on when he needed something off credit.

” ok I’ll give you your milk boy. Stay here, I have got something for you.”

“Thanks, said Fix. You’re a sick devil. And I’m not a boy.”

All customers were served quickly but roughly. Abi put finger on his lips as if he were about to pass on  a deadly secret:

 

” I got new stock today. “Magic Tomatoes”. They’re grown at the feet of an old volcano that has just erupted. See. You take one. It’s like gas pumping you up.”

“What?”

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More Humour here.

 

 

The Earmuffs

IMG_1991Danny “the promising kid” was never to forget that day at the bicycle sheds.

It was snowing and his mother appeared out of nowhere, holding a pair of earmuffs.

“Danny! What do you think you’re doing out here in this kind of weather with no earmuffs? I told you to take them with you this morning! You are not a Russian Soldier so don’t you play the brave boy!”

Giving in as he put those wolly earmuffs on, he never imagined what consequences not standing up to mothering would bring immediately.

As the woman left in a hurry and nodding, his friends carried on smoking

“You need earmuffs kid or your mummy won’t breastfeed you tonight!”

Like flying gossip, the scene would be heard of even among the younger classes. End of “promising Danny”. No friends left, bullying on Facebook and catching bad habits at home, where he hid like a headgehog.

The school’s drug dealer pretended to be his only friend and got him into weed.

His mother was too busy with work and Charity work, devoted to saving the world but having ” aborted” her 15 year-old.

Danny eventually fled the nest to find himself homeless in London.

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Homeless, but Popular. His family had been told not to launch a missing persons campaign because in this case it could make Danny more vulnerable.

For three years he had established  his ” begging spot” near Victoria station and lived by the day. He had even gained himself a name among the Eastern European mafias who charged for protection in the area.

But one day  while he was eighteen and didn’t even know his own age, a lady with a familiar voice slammed a coffee.

“Here’s a coffee drink for Christmas. Your ears look frozen. ”

A burning cup of coffee and a hand spitting diamonds.

As their eyes met, the charity freak recognised her own son, a man now, with wise and reproachful eyes. She felt vertigo in his gaze.

” Maybe I need a pair of earmuffs ” he said in a gentle, controlled voice.

She knelt down not to faint, took as much strength from her motherhood as she could and cried

“Danny, I’m so happy I found you. I will never have enough words to express how sorry I am, because you left your Facebook account open and I found out about the bullying…. please take my hand. Please. Good. Your ears are frozen. Your room is waiting for you and dad needs help with the business. It’s your nineteenth birthday on Sunday. Dad will sort out some help with the weed thing only if you want to. And all your schoolfriends have a group called “Find Danny M” which I follow.”

As passers by were leaving the last coins Danny would be to gather, he picked up his rucksack, not wanting in any way to lose his very precious sleeping bag, and followed his mum to the car.

It smelt the same. An Eastern mafia boss took note of the unusual scene as he got arrested again two minutes later.

“Mum. It’s so lovely and warm in here. Can I smoke some weed?”

“You can, son, but only if it’s for medical purposes.”

“I won’t then.”

And he threw his little bag out of the window to a fellow homeless  friend who was waving goodbye at him.

The End.