Morose sat in the subway, annoyed. He was late for work, and the car was stopped between stations.
“Mint?” asked a lady standing beside him.
She was dressed in a black cocktail dress, with a matching purse and shoes. She wore sunglasses and held a mint between her teeth.
“Uh, no thank you…” said Morose, suddenly noticing that there was no one else on the car but them.
“Are you sure?” she said, now sitting across the aisle, dressed in a green and brown fur dragon mascot costume, shooting mints out of her left nostril. “They’re very good.”
“I’m sure they are. I’m good, though,” he replied.
“You’re afraid it’ll blow the top of your head off and shoot your eyeballs out of their sockets.”
“Um…” he began, considering her odd but very specific statement. “Should I be?”
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“Mais, non,” she said, hanging from the ceiling on a trapeze, extending a mint between her fingers.
“Fine.” He took the mint. “You promise it won’t blow the top of my head off and shoot my eyeballs out of their sockets?”
“Promise,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
He popped the mint. It blew the top of his head off and shot his eyeballs out of their sockets, just as the train started moving.
She plunked his eyeballs into her purse and exited at the next stop.
Great work, she mused, if you can get it.
