"So…why are we in Brooklyn again?" Jack grimaced as he surveyed the bustling market stalls, as here, he was literally a queen out of his throne. "Do I have to go through this again?", sighed Will "I thought the play-doh models and flash cards would be clear enough…anyways, we're here to make a very angry complaint to a market stall that took advantage of me!" Jack's face lit up, "Oooo!" he exclaimed!
"Not in the way you think."
"Oh." came the disappointed reply.
Will and Jack continued to trudge through the market, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of the stall-holders, as they were never comfortable with having a melon thrust in each hand by anyone, let alone a Brooklyn fruit-stall owner. They walked for about five minutes more until they finally reached the kitchen supplies stall, which, on first glance, appeared to be without a holder.
"Right, we're here, time to kick some pan-handle ass!" Will smiled wryly as he prepared himself for a metallic influenced showdown.
"Yeah, kick some ass! How's my straight face?" Jack arranged himself into something that was cross between the 'Village People' Policeman and a cactus (rigid, but full of water). Will frowned as he thought "Why didn't I bring Grac…just as bad."
As the two musketeers approached the stall, there was still no sign of an owner, just a bunch of stray pots and pans with no-one to tame them. "Hello?" Will said, quite intrigued by the mystery of the stall holder (who according to Will's memory, was a rather large, loud 50 year old Brooklyn woman whose idea of polite was "I don't take fifties!"). Just then, three things came up, two of them was Jack's eyebrows, but the other was something neither of them had expected. He had dark hair, brown eyes, was in his late-twenties, and his appearance made Jack fall head over heals (I'm talking literally, he tripped over a wonky sidewalk stone and fell head first into a George Forman grill.)
"Karen, for the last time, it was a throw pillow!"
Grace was beginning to tire of Karen. Since their apparent 'intimate moment' (in Karen's words, "Honey, you bounced me right out the window!"), Karen had been constantly licking her lips and cleaning her gun in a very seductive manner.
"Oh, so that's what we're calling it now, well I'm gonna go to the swatch room, and maybe you can throw pillow me in there!"
Grace continued to draw, attempting to ignore Karen, who preceeded to lean over her desk and press her breasts together whilst fluttering her eyelids and sipping her martini.
All of a sudden, the phone rang, but unfortunately, Karen answered. "Lesbian love house of design, how can we help you…"
"Karen, it's 1pm, time for lunch, see you at 5, in fact, take a an extra hour, in fact, take a hundred uppers and I'll see you in two months."