Izaih Soto had always hated dumb Afghanistan with its dull, dizzy desert. It was a place where he felt sneezy.
He was a gay, funny, frappe drinker with pink elbows and hairy toes. His friends saw him as a giant, gentle gay. Once, he had even helped a lovely baby cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.
Izaih walked over to the window and reflected on his hot surroundings. The drizzle rained like jogging goldfish.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Taylor Rodriguez. Taylor was a weird vicar with fluffy elbows and short toes.
Izaih gulped. He was not prepared for Taylor.
As Izaih stepped outside and Taylor came closer, he could see the mangled smile on her face.
"I am here because I want v card," Taylor bellowed, in an energetic tone. She slammed her fist against Izaih's chest, with the force of 1974 gerbils. "I frigging hate you, Izaih Soto."
Izaih looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the small watermelons. "Taylor, your gay," he replied.
They looked at each other with active feelings, like two kind, klutzy kittens bopping at a very artistic funeral, which had classical music playing in the background and two intuitive uncles bouncing to the beat.
Izaih studied Taylor's fluffy elbows and short toes. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you v card," he explained, in pitying tones.
Taylor looked sleepy, her body raw like a kindly, klutzy kiwi.
Izaih could actually hear Taylor's body shatter into 359 pieces. Then the weird vicar hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of frappe would calm Izaih's nerves tonight.
THE END
