Mo Plumb had always loved hilly Manchester with its wasteful, warty waters. It was a place where he felt stable.

He was a stupid, gracious, whiskey drinker with dirty hands and dirty moles. His friends saw him as a faffdorking, flipping friend. Once, he had even jumped into a river and saved a light chicken. That's the sort of man he was.

Mo walked over to the window and reflected on his sunny surroundings. The moon shone like gyrating bears.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Casper Meadows. Casper was a malicious wally with vast hands and moist moles.

Mo gulped. He was not prepared for Casper.

As Mo stepped outside and Casper came closer, he could see the clever smile on his face.

"Look Mo," growled Casper, with a snotty glare that reminded Mo of malicious badgers. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want some more Twitter followers. You owe me 2904 euros."

Mo looked back, even more delighted and still fingering the magic teapot. "Casper, Is that real leather," he replied.

They looked at each other with ecstatic feelings, like two forgotten, freezing frogs hopping at a very predatory rave, which had reggae music playing in the background and two lovable uncles running to the beat.

Mo regarded Casper's vast hands and moist moles. "I don't have the funds ..." he lied.

Casper glared. "Do you want me to shove that magic teapot where the sun don't shine?"

Mo promptly remembered his stupid and gracious values. "Actually, I do have the funds," he admitted. He reached into his pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Casper looked healthy, his wallet blushing like a great, gifted gun.

Then Casper came inside for a nice glass of whiskey.

This story was created with the Short Story Generator.