It was a warm, humid night, and Paul Tree watched cars glide across the wet pavement. His cane tapped impatiently against the sidewalk as he stood, his fragile frame bent over with age. He appeared shorter than ever. He treed to straighten his back, but felt familiar pain coursing through him once again. If only, if only he hadn't climbed that tree in his flowering days of youth... if only he had ignored those ripe impulses that sprung from his adolescent mind...
He discovered that palm trees are not trees at all, but a form of grass.
"Oh damn," he said furiously. He then plunged a knife in his chest and committed suicide. His corpse smelled of rain and despair.
YOU ARE READING
Palm Tree: A Collection of Short Stories
RandomA man finds a palm tree and some other unrelated stuff happens.
