Larry in Love

 

“I’m in love,” said Larry.

 

“No you’re not,” said Mick.

 

“What do you mean?,” said Larry.

 

“It’s just your brain chemistry misfiring,” said Mick.

 

Larry looked at Mick.

 

“What would you know?,” said Larry.

 

“Excuse me?,” said Mick.

 

“What would you know about love?,” said Larry.

 

“I’ve been in love,” said Mick.

 

“When?,” said Larry.

 

“You know, that time when...”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I can’t talk about it!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s too painful.”

 

“Is it about your thing for porcupines?”

 

“I’ve never had a thing for porcupines!”

 

“Hedgehogs?”

 

“Stop making inappropriate comments about spiky creatures!”

 

“Okay.”

 

Awkwardness filled the space between them for three seconds which felt like three centuries. Well four seconds.

 

“Go on then,” said Mick.

 

“What?,” said Larry.

 

“Tell me about the supposed object of your affection.”

 

“It’s not just affection, Mick. I’ve got it bad.”

 

“Is it Sally the Librarian?”

 

“How did you know?”

 

“I’ve seen the way you look at her when she stamps your books.”

 

“She doesn’t stamp my books. It’s all digital now.”

 

“Go with me on this.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And do you think I haven’t wondered why you’ve been getting through twenty books a day?”

 

“Ah you noticed.”

 

“How can I not? Getting into reading’s all very laudable, but how many versions of The Art of War can one man consume?”

 

“I can’t help myself, Mick! She has me entranced!”

 

“Like I said, brain chemistry.”

 

“What’s made you so cynical?”

 

“Not cynical, practical.”

 

“Is this because you could never consummate your love for Patricia the Porcupine?”

 

“Never speak of it!”

 

The conversation fizzled away to a painful silence that stretched for all eternity. Well at least until Larry got up and put the kettle on.

 

[ fin ]