Overnight some bizarre joker made a living statue out of me and planted me in the middle of the shopping thoroughfare. So here I sit, watching two women circling me, scratching their chins.
“Clever statue. He looks like he’s sitting on a toilet. Pondering?” Susan wonders.
“It’s art,” Melissa shrugs, “who knows.”
“Taking a shit maybe.” Susan muses, peeking underneath. I grimace inside.
“Let’s give him a name. We’ll call him ‘The Thinker’!” Susan’s eyes light at her own brilliance.
I like that. “The Thinker”. Now if someone will only help me think my way out of this situation…
== 100 words ==
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