Friday, 5 April 2013

Slightly Less Short Fridays: Leaves On The Line


"Morning."  Brad smiled at Lewis.

Lewis smiled back.

This wasn't allowed.  Their little illicit rebellion.  The shook hands, making sure to make it look like they weren't shaking hands, if anybody happened to look at them, from a distance.

This wasn't exactly what they had thought they had signed up to.  For a start, when they joined, they were on the same side.  (Of course, they didn't know each other then.)  Where they stood now had been a field, not a national border.  And when they signed up they were not immediately issued with a pair of gardening gloves.

"Are you sure those are ours?"  Lewis, pointing at Brad's black bin liner with his litter picker, always stuck to his part of the script.

"No," said Brad, sticking to his.  "Of course not.  You?"


Lewis went to hand over his bag, and Brad went to offer his.  Then Lewis hesitated.  Deviated from the routine.  Deviation was always a little bit dangerous.

Eventually he spoke.

"Do you think anyone would know if you put your leaves back where you picked them up from, and I put mine back where I found them too?"

"We'd have to make sure we looked like we were swapping bags."

"Yes, we would.  Wouldn't we?"

"Yes," said Brad, breaking into a smile.  "We would."


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