222-word post, or “Lemonade”

Gunther Jorph was a busy businessman with a busy life, far too busy to understand that he kept so busy because he was afraid of being vulnerable.

And so it was that he walked hurriedly with his briefcase in hand, like he had so many days, straight past the lemonade stand on the 2nd street corner on his walk to the subway.

It would show up randomly, for a few days in a row, and then not for weeks. No one manned the table but a crude sign: “Lemonade – $1 – Honour system”.

“SOME people sure do have a lot of time on their hands,” he thought, and went to work at his busy job.

But he thought about lemonade all day.

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And he took a drink.

It was the best lemonade he’d ever tasted. And then he fell over backwards, because he’d been roofied.

He woke up in an alleyway wearing nothing but a sombrero and stiletto heels. His ass burned like fire, but otherwise he was unhurt, and he realized he was confused and disoriented, but happy.

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