3.b.ix
The Elephant
sat in a well cushioned chair in his office, eating his third pint of peanut
caramel triple chocolate cluster ice-cream.
He sipped a diet cola from a crystal flute and watched pro-wrestling on
the enormous flatscreen mounted on the wall.
His Union Belt
buckle had, long ago, collapsed under the strain of his ever growing
girth. It now lay resting in a storage
unit that rivaled The Elephant’s house in square footage.
He would not
be answering the call.