by Jeff Glovsky
The old blonde Russian twists her ankle.
Sits down on the pavement, pulls and strokes it, purring angrily. Her husband, or maybe the limo driver, tries to make it better; “Let me help you up,” says he.
“No! I can do it! Oh … ”
“Magda!”
“I’m fainting! Leave me be,” says she.
The man extends an arm and hand, and tries to lean while lunging. Thusly gallant, he stands posed that way: one foot up, knee bent, on the curb …
She doesn’t take his arm and hand.
As dead as chivalry itself, she stares, and screams again, “I’m fainting!”
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