Fiction: The Library Patron

Doris Padmore had used the word “dapper” only loosely until Arthur Wyndham first walked into the library. Now, she knew, she was seeing the real thing.

He was slender and stood about 5 feet, 9 inches tall. His hair and moustache, both neatly trimmed, were a rich gray. He wore a brown necktie with his fine three-piece suit of tweed. He removed his coordinating summer fedora upon entering the library. His black wing tips were well, but not slavishly, polished. He wanted only an umbrella or a spaniel to be the very picture of an English gentleman.

Or, Mrs. Padmore thought, a refugee from a time when dressing nicely to go into public view wasn’t considered declasse.
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Fiction: The Tavern

He was a good-looking man, and young; only the limp and the cane explained why he wasn’t in uniform.

He carefully maneuvered himself between a few tables and hitched himself up on a barstool. “Lager, bitte,” he told the barmaid.

She drew his beer and set it in front of him. “So where are you from, mein Herr, and what brings you to our little village?”

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Fiction: One Big Joke

A man is at his lawyer’s office. The lawyer says, “Geoff, this is your third divorce. This is stupid. Tell you what you do: just go out every five or six years, find a woman you can’t stand and buy her a house.”

🙂

A kid comes up on a man’s porch. “Say, mister, did you see the truck that hit your dog?”
“No!”
“Neither did your dog.”

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