Don't Touch My Coffee


Her head jerks back swiftly, mouth open in shock. In a tangle of flailing limbs and scattering pages, she falls off of the bench.


Shrieking, she tries to curl up into a ball – reducing herself, as a target, as much as possible. She vainly holds out her left arm, in a blind panic. A futile attempt to defend from the vengeance she has earned at my hands.


“Ow-ow-ow! Okay! Geez, I’m sorry okay! Now, please don’t throw any more- STOP THROWING PINECONES AT ME!”


A running target – the Hunt is on.

The bucket is still over half full as I begin a relentless pursuit.

And I’m faster than her.

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