“What a cool fellow,” the park thought.
A child was going down a slide. It was in the left side of the park, if you were looking in the direction of the main street. The child sat in the bottom part of the slide. He had on a pair of bright green shorts. Reaching into his bright green pocket, he took out a bright green apple and held it at eye level in front of his face. It was a beautiful apple, his eyes concluded. He rubbed it against his cheek and purred like a cat.
The child saw Wilfred James, but Wilfred James had already seen the child. As they had both seen each other, it was customary that they would speak. Wilfred James, as the older man, uttered a comment:
“There should have been a storm today,” he said, making his voice deeper than usual, “but it seems that little drizzle is all we’re getting.”
“The park doesn’t seem to mind,” the child replied.
Wilhelm James attempted to sit on a swing, but his thighs didn’t fit. Not that he was overweight, no, he was quite the sportsman according to his own criteria, but the width of his thighs was simply greater than the width of the swing. He kept standing and walking around the playground as though he hadn’t attempted to sit down at all.
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