I followed the Pinto limo.
When it stopped at a red light, I ran into the back of it.
Guess I wasn’t paying attention.
The limo exploded.
The light turned green and the burning remains of the limo took off.
I sighed and followed again.
A few hour later, we found ourselves in a place with houses.
The limo stopped.
I stopped.
The HR lady got out of what was left of the limo.
She pointed at a house with an open garage.
“That’s where it is,” she said.
“Cool,” I said.
“And that’s where we use the olive oil,” she said, holding up the bottle.
“It’s from Italy!” I exclaimed.
“Yep, the good stuff!” she exclaimed back.
Then I noticed that her clothes were on fire.
I told her so.
She opened the bottle of the good stuff and dumped some on her burning clothes.
Soon, she was no longer on fire.
She pulled a phone from her smoking clothes, tapped on it for a bit and then threw it at me, hitting me in the head.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked in quite the whiny voice.
“TO TEACH YOU A LESSON!” she bellowed.
“Lesson learned,” I muttered not really knowing what the actual lesson was.
She looked around in a crafty way.
Then she walked over to the driveway of the house with the open garage door and poured that good stuff all over the aforementioned driveway.
She threw the empty bottle of olive oil at me, but missed.
“HA!” I said, happy for once in my life.
She gave me an odd look, walked over and picked up the empty bottle.
She walked over to me with her arms held wide.
I expected a hug.
I didn’t get a hug.
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