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.