“Help.”
Hello?
“Help me. Please.”
No, no, no. I am not talking to a road case.
“Not the case. It’s me, I’m in here.”
…
Red Metal Stool! My God, you’re all broken and mangled.
“Get me to a hospital.”
No. You’re not a person.
“A vet.”
Or an animal.
“Blacksmith.”
That’s who you want. What happened here?
“I assume it was terrorism.”
Maybe a stagehand dropped the case.
“No. Terrorism.”
Whatever. Why are you even in a road case?
“Bobby threw me off the bus.”
Why?
“Kept dropping deuces.”
I don’t blame him. Wait. You can poop?
“Yes, and I can feel. And I can cry.”
I hate what my life’s become.
You know what happened to that one, right?
.
hope the stool of the Red Stool is not red. happy poos only. peace out.