The Tables Turn

“Wull, hey there, li’l ladeh.”

“Good evening, sir…?”

“Say, yer pretteh.. how’d ye like tuh cum back with meh to mah ’partmunt?”

“No, that’s quite all right.”

“C’mon, now. A pretteh thing like yerself shouldn’t be out this layt ull ullone.”

“Get your hands off of me!”

“Aww, come onnnn… Y’know, I think I had a dream ’bout yeh the uther night.”

“Sir, please!! You’re drunk, you should go inside!”

“Oh, so yuh think yer too good for me, do ya?! Just b’cuz yeh got yerself a fancy coat an’ bag dussint mean yer not just like me! We’re all thuh same! We’ve ull got dreams and—hic—ambitions!! C’mawn back here!”

“Hello, 911? … Yes, I’m on the corner of Twenty-third Avenue and Bristol Lane. … Well, I was coming out of the bar … yeah, the one on the corner, and this drunken man tried to follow me … no, I’m fine. It’s just that when I was running away from him, a car crossed the street at the same time … No, he’s not breathing, and there’s blood everywhere. Please hurry; I think he’s dead.”

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