by Kenneth M. Kapp
The smoke boasted how in his youth he was always in getting in peoples’ faces, not dispersing no matter how much hands were waved. A man challenged him to get back into the pipe from whence he came. The pipe reminded people there was a no return policy. The cleaner complained it had scraped by for years until it was brown and worn out. The smoke circled, formed a ring, and said he would show them how it was done with mirrors. The audience stood as one and made for the exits having heard all of this before.
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Kenneth M. Kapp lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. His stories have appeared in more than eighty-five publications world-wide including The Saturday Evening Post and October Hill Magazine. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries.