The brutal august winds bullied the fire off of the roof, across the car port, around to the walk way, until the flames engulfed the baby carriage -
the flames enticed the baby carriage
the flames did the hokey pokey on the -
Letting out a breathy sigh, Brent suspected he had topped himself in his self-appointed 'worst opening line' contest. He walked the printout of the solo line into the tiny kitchen, then raised it up to the older entries taped to his mini fridge. While fumbling with the tape dispenser in one hand, he confirmed his suspicions by glancing over the previous winners.
There was "Spiders be good for you, Bwana." The ever unpopular "Quickly, before it flushes." And the previous title holder, "Make room Mt. Rushmore, George Walker Bush is a comin'."
A quick inventory of the mini fridge's contents revealed no changes since the last check. Half jar of beets, stick of butter, a pillow, and at least thirty bottles of Belgium beer. As he left the inventory behind, minus one beer, Brent cautiously stepped his way to the apartment's solitary window.
The heat had broken, and the night sky was clear and breezy. Brent's eyes follow the people passing below, giving them names according to the gait of their walk. Once Warbly Beaver descended into the subway stairwell, and out of sight, his attention was drawn to Schleppy McTwoToes. Schlep was a nightly regular, and his destination was no secret. As he approached The White Horse Tavern, Brent waited for his signature glance, checking both ways, with hand on door, as if being followed by unknown assailants. The door swings close behind him, as three barely visible ninjas ascend the taverns walls from the alleyway.