Back to "Writing Exercise"
Her hug was close. Tight.
If he was straight, or even just lonely...
He would be effectively intoxicated.
He's neither.
"Oh, common Midas, don't be like that."
Anton, not at all named Midas, was getting, miffed.
"Flattery will get you nowhere.
And besides, Sherill, that wasn't flattery."
Sherill raised a brow. Taking a seat on 'his' restored sofa.
"He made stuff into gold, You take rags and make high end fashion."
He retorted, sipping on piping hot tea.
"I'm also not inspired by greed."
Sherill frowned
"He was trying to save his Country from bankruptcy."
"Not in the version I read."
...
This wasn't new. it was an argument they came back to all the time.
So familiar, Sherill almost forgot what she came for this time.
"Aaron's having his Bar Mitzvah in a month.
I will donate to the Charity of your choice, but make my little brother a suit that will not make him look... Off."
"Any Charity?"
"Even your pocket."
Anton sat with his chin on his palm.
"Tell me what you have in mind."
Originally published on twitter.
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