“What do you make of the quinoa?” asked an old friend, sipping his strawberry Weetabix protein drink.
A tear trickled down my cheek.
“What’s wrong?!” he tried.
“Sorry,” I said, playing with my phone charger. “I’m just trying to work out the quickest way to murder you with this plug.”
“Go with the chord,” he nodded, solumnly removing his leather trilby.
© Carl Burkitt 2015