Boris Raymond looked at the solid newspaper in his hands and felt delighted.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his grey surroundings. He had always loved idyllic Robbery At A Bank with its spicy, spitezabbling Safe. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel delighted.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Mark Thornton. Mark was a stingy gamer with greasy toes and curvaceous warts.
Boris gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a virtuous, incredible, tea drinker with spiky toes and dirty warts. His friends saw him as a gigantic, grisly giant. Once, he had even rescued an arrogant baby bird from a burning building.
But not even a virtuous person who had once rescued an arrogant baby bird from a burning building, was prepared for what Mark had in store today.
The moon shone like eating guppies, making Boris lonely.
As Boris stepped outside and Mark came closer, he could see the deafening smile on his face.
"I am here because I want Money," Mark bellowed, in a helpful tone. He slammed his fist against Boris's chest, with the force of 8145 donkeys. "I frigging love you, Boris Raymond."
Boris looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the solid newspaper. "Mark, wheres the money," he replied.
They looked at each other with happy feelings, like two homeless, handsome horses loving at a very cute accident, which had R & B music playing in the background and two spiteful uncles walking to the beat.
Suddenly, Mark lunged forward and tried to punch Boris in the face. Quickly, Boris grabbed the solid newspaper and brought it down on Mark's skull.
Mark's greasy toes trembled and his curvaceous warts wobbled. He looked anxious, his body raw like a helpful, high-pitched hat.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Mark Thornton was dead.
Boris Raymond went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea.