{ ... }

 

۞

  SRY, not really, it just gets funny. Until it gets extinguishèd. Unless it goes beyond a joke. A skinhead shot-one-off which meant that when The Grand caught fire there wasn't a blower to go on.

  {on the blower} 

  “We've got a fire here. Everyone's been evacuated safely, can you send in the Polish to take care of it?” 

  All of the subbers and news editors were watching all their hard work go up in flames.  

  Up in flames. Down in cinders.  

  The one responsible for the disaster was seeking counsel from his friend. 

  “We could get in trouble, cause it means a lot of things to a lot of different people,” spoke counsel. 

  “I didn't mean to take the mazel, I just wanted to shoot-one-off,” said naivety.  

  “You deserve the gawel for that, fuckup,” replièd responsibility.  

  It was only a small fire, but all the papers around the office set alight quickly. There was nothing to extinguish it since the skin-head that had shot-one-off had disablèd the fire extinguisher in order to pull off the prank of lighting a firework into the distance, the general direction of The Grand newspaper building. 

  A sole figure was glad to see the back of it. Telly was on the balcony across from Tottenham Ton. He saw his future empire going up like a pyre. A tear came to a crier. It was the End of an Ayah. 

  °I'm an executive. I'm leaving° he thought. 

۝