The postman cringed as his drunken breath wafted through the half-open door. Ã¢â‚¬Å“Took us 6 months to find you.Ã¢â‚¬Â He scratched his beard and grunted thanks. Ripping it open, a familiar handwriting said, Ã¢â‚¬Å“The wedding is on the 8th. Come get me PLEASE.Ã¢â‚¬Â Hands shaking, he now noticed the street name smudged by a teardrop.
I had promised myself to do justice to Prash’s tag. Drawing inspiration from today’s short-shorts frenzy over at Sepia Mutiny, I came up with these 55 words. A more honest attempt, as you can see.