A Pinnate Leafed Twig

Mark, next door neighbour, repaid the borrowed £2 and, though he was still there, I let the door close; someone else was coming, Bob, the leaseholder from above as I saw through the kitchen window, who told Mark, “I want to speak to John.”  “I don’t want to speak to you,” I said, turning to my lunch.  Regardless, Bob pressed a pinnate leafed twig against the top kitchen window, “Did you throw this into the garden?” He gardens for the landlord.  “No!”  He’s insane, I thought.  “You planted weeds in the garden.”  I saw myself putting dandelions in holes.  “You’re a fucking lying bastard!” he went on, not waiting for a denial.   “Who do you think you are!”   “Who do I think I am?” he asked but I didn’t catch the answer.  On his going, I went out to ask Mark had he heard the abuse.  He prevaricated before admitting he had but refusing corroboration, “he’s a sweet guy.”  Bob has complained about him six times.  “I’ll have to complain about it.”  Mark nodded.  I looked about.  I couldn’t see where Bob had got the pinnate leafed twig from.  I can’t tell this story without laughing.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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