The neverending pie

by Jonny Fenham

John entered the backstreet florists where a tiny little Scotsman sporting a rather severe monocle faced him from behind a battered workbench littered with the remains of mangled alarm clocks. Little did he know, but life would never be the same again.

'So', began the attendant. 'I deduct that you've come about the budgerigar?'
John entered the backstreet florists where a tiny little Scotsman sporting a rather severe monocle faced him from behind a battered workbench littered with the remains of mangled alarm clocks. Little did he know, but life would never be the same again.

'So', began the attendant. 'I deduct that you've come about the budgerigar?'
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