Like clockwork, at 5:15 pm that screen door would kick open and if you looked closely you’d see that crazy little mouse. He’d sprint to his bar stool, spin around the pole on one arm and hop right up to the cushion with a big shit-eating grin. High fives with the bartender. “Gimme a beer, Sam!” “Sure thing, Mouse!” Their usual routine before the small talk.
One Friday, Mouse hops onto his stool, sips his first beer and looks sideways down the bar. There, at the very end, is this really cute Giraffe. She sees Mouse, looks away a second, then looks back and smiles. Blink, blink. Damn, those big long eyelashes. She is adorable.
Mouse whispers, “Sam! Who’s that?” The bartender explains she just came in awhile ago all by herself. Seems lonely.
Mouse sends her a drink. Giraffe smiles again. Blink, blink.
Minutes later, Mouse shinnies down his stool and climbs up the stool next to the Giraffe. They sit there for an hour, then two, laughing and drinking, having a wonderful time.
Suddenly, Mouse and Giraffe get up and leave the bar together.
The next evening at the bar, 5:15 comes and passes. No Mouse.
Then 6:00. Then 6:30. Very unusual; Sam is concerned.
Around 7 pm, there is an odd thwack against the screen door. Then another. The door shakes and eventually opens a bit and in stumbles Mouse. He is moving slow. His ears curl down, clothes and hair are a mess.
Mouse struggles to climb to the top of the stool and when he finally gets there he sits silently, head in his hands. Sam lays a beer down and doesn’t say anything. Mouse looks like shit.
Finally, Sam can’t resist. He says “Mouse, what in the world happened to you?”
Mouse takes a big pull off his beer. Finally says, “Sam, remember that Giraffe from last night? The one I left with?”
Sam replies, “Yeah, of course, Mouse. What happened?”
Mouse rolls his eyes, pauses and says, “Oh man, Sam. Between the kissing and the fucking I must have run 400 miles last night.”
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