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
A Robot's Sonnet
Danger Slater / Jersey Devil Press
robots only eat old people /
Mark Strozier / Flickr
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