On finally digesting the transforming word “gig” over the din of the pub noise, the friends sailed above the deflating grumbles of wives and bosses into a sunny future. Only on considering task number 7, did they detect the sound of a their hot air balloon hissing. Before that expectations were high…
“We’ve got a gig,” Trevor had crowed, rushing through the crowd to his pals in the corner booth. When his friends, crunched into their regular table didn’t cheer at the good news, Trevor waved a wad of paper and roared, “A gig. Here’s the contract.”
“A gig?” said Bert.
“An event, an engagement, our chance to shine,” screeched Trevor.
“I know what a gig is but are we ready?”
“If you wait until you’re ready you’ll never sail,” said Elmer.
BY MELODIE CORRIGALL
BY LEN KUNTZ
My Yellow Cup with the Tiger On
Scott McClelland / Bartleby Snopes
Lawn Boy / wplynn / Flickr
© Intrinsick 2015-2019