The Real Gone Goose

She was wearing tight pants and a polo neck. Something was wrong though. She looked smart - but casual. I undid my raincoat and found a cigarette but there were no matches and no lighter.

Fire. That element was missing and I couldn't smoke, but she knew that and sort of jeered me from behind the sofa, where she lay, sewing a ribbon on the soft thing. The soft thing was multicolored, like a carnival novelty. But somehow I was aware of the truth.

"Is it a fake?" I asked, without much concern. "No" she replied with a smirk, "It's the real gone goose"

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