Tom Thunder was thinking about Matthew Godfrey again. Matthew was a tight-fisted writer with chubby fingers and chubby fingernails.
Tom walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. He had always loved creepy Athens with its shredded, scrawny swamps. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel cross.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a tight-fisted figure of Matthew Godfrey.
Tom gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a tactless, stingy, brandy drinker with charming fingers and charming fingernails. His friends saw him as a damaged, disgusted dolphin. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a purring kitten.
But not even a tactless person who had once made a cup of tea for a purring kitten, was prepared for what Matthew had in store today.
The drizzle rained like talking donkeys, making Tom jumpy. Tom grabbed a silver piano that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Tom stepped outside and Matthew came closer, he could see the powerful glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want affection," Matthew bellowed, in a clumsy tone. He slammed his fist against Tom's chest, with the force of 2931 hamsters. "I frigging love you, Tom Thunder."
Tom looked back, even more jumpy and still fingering the silver piano. "Matthew, I love you," he replied.
They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two low, lively lizards running at a very mean engagement party, which had reggae music playing in the background and two incredible uncles skipping to the beat.
Suddenly, Matthew lunged forward and tried to punch Tom in the face. Quickly, Tom grabbed the silver piano and brought it down on Matthew's skull.
Matthew's chubby fingers trembled and his chubby fingernails wobbled. He looked healthy, his body raw like a plastic, panicky piano.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Matthew Godfrey was dead.
Tom Thunder went back inside and made himself a nice glass of brandy.