Fishing in Shallow Waters

..--..

If I fall off the edge of the podium, would someone care?

It had been a blur of lights and cameras as he performed, hazel eyes squinting through jelled hair that kept falling gracefully over his angular face. His muscles tensed in their sensitive spots, stretching themselves to the breaking point. The dance had been choreographed weeks before, the song notes memorized like a nursery rhyme yet his wobbly limbs moved with the beats of the song as if they were performing for the first time on stage... a stage surrounded by countless, black figurines of a stirred audience that kept chanting his name and kept cheering him on.

His head tilted up as he felt the music rearing to a halt, his unwilling body moving into the final posture of the dance. His perspiring lips stopped but still quivered, aching for air.

The glow of neon and yellow almost blinded him.

He could see them overhead, around him and on the center stage where he stood... surrounding him like a canopy of watchful predators. His right arm was raised high, fingers aiming upward to the heavens-his posture reminiscent of the angel Lucifer struck down from heaven and pointing back at the gods for cutting him loose. The audience were left speechless but for a small moment. A thunder of applause broke out and the bead of sweat on his forehead trickled down his flushed cheek to his exposed neck.

It was finally over and he had made no mistakes.

Like always, the idol of perfection. Not that he had ever doubted himself.

As he left the stage to the solitude of his dressing room, he could hear his PR agent trailing behind him like a sticky piece of used chewing gum. In spite of the crowds that were gathered backstage to shake his hand in awe or catch a momentary glimpse of his famed looks, his agent skillfully glided through them, not losing track of the man he was in charge of. He was a funny little guy, now that the star thought about it. Even though the stubby man had worked for him for three months already, Charteris still couldn't recollect his name... whatever it was.

"T'was a fantastic show, Chart- my man... Everyone was blown away. Mind blowing stuff... you've got all the right goods in the package. The director was so impressed that he was talking about promoting you on MzTV. They don't have a lot of sponsors but your divine face is just what they need to boost their ratings," his agent rambled in a voice that was too bouncy to suit his dark mood.

The man's obliviousness astounded him since even a little girl had shrunk away from him moments ago, her request for an autograph all forgotten when she noticed the negative vibes he had been emanating. A random attendant passed him a towel and he rubbed his sweaty mop of ragged hair into it but didn't slow down his brisk pace. Walking into the secluded dressing room of his, he threw the towel aside on the table and turned to bolt the door. But much to his annoyance, his agent's balding head peeped in persistently, trying to follow the star into his chaotic dressing room. "And Charty, what do you think about hosting an awards show with the talented, hot singer Miss. Natalie whatsherlastname?-"

Chart's response was to kick the door closed, cutting the man off midway in his speech.

"But I am not finished yet, Charty..." came the whine from the other side. "How will you hear me if you slam the door on my face?"

"Not hearing you is the whole point and stop calling me that," he replied curtly, knowing well that his agent would hear him.

There was an indignant silence. Chart could almost swear that he heard the word 'arrogant punk' utter from the other side. When he finally heard the sound of footsteps departing in disappointment, he let out a long sigh in relief. He dragged his feet to the couch and collapsed against its softness.

He didn't mind lounging in the cramped little room. Leaning against the velvet cushions of the couch and his boots resting high up on the table, his hazel eyes meandered to the spot where a long rack of his clothes lay waiting for him in anticipation. They were all customized to his needs and designed to fit his frame like second skin... to show off his intricate curves to people he'd never even met before but in whose admiration he basked his glory. Show business... it was such a backstabbing, fan-frenzied and a skin-deep profession. But the media loved every inch of it shamelessly. Should he really blame them for it? After all, he was just as shallow as them... milking their attention to the last drop. Because in the end of it all, he was just a prop... a temporary, morning cereal liked by everyone but soon to be forgotten when the next brand of cornflakes hits the market.

Charteris let out another sigh in the empty room. His PR agent had placed a bouquet of expensive red roses on the lustrous French table, along with a vase of lilies and other colorful gifts piled up there. Not to forget the letters of admiration from his fans, all written in glitter pen, red hearts sketched around his stage name and most inscribed with the screaming words 'Marry Me!'. It was a pity that they put so much effort into making him notice them.

He sank back against the velvet cushions. He hadn't read a single fan letter till date... and wasn't planning to either. Some ended in the trash, some he used for making little origami planes to chuck at all the people who annoyed him (especially his agent) and a few unlucky ones ended up as makeshift tissue paper after a nasty Burritos lunch... The point was he never read them. He didn't want to be told what an 'awesome' singer he was. He didn't want to know how his 'original' music had 'given meaning to someone else's existence'.

He had his reasons... One, he didn't want to be reminded of the façade he was putting up in front of the entire world. Little did everyone know that aging bald record producers wrote the ‘original’ music they talked about and he hadn't even written a single word in the lyrics. Take for example, his recent hit track 'Tale of a Moon-lit Night'. All rot. The only word he wrote in the whole song was the article 'a' (which the grammar challenged lyricists had obviously missed).

And two, he didn't give a damn about how others felt about him. He was in the business for the money and as long as people bought his cd, he was a happy-go-lucky guy...

Atleast that was the way it was supposed to be.

So, why was he feeling guilty now... after all this time?

Because in the end, cereal boxes were never supposed to feel guilty about their status quo, right? They were never supposed to feel jealous of a hamburger's independence.

A sound ruminated from the deep caverns of his stomach... a sign that he was skipping out on dinner again and a sign that he shouldn't be thinking about food when the gas tank indicated 'empty'. He wasn't dieting unlike what the tabloids seemed to be gossiping about. Like hell, he would let his agency control his eating habits too. No, it was all a deliberate plan. Part of his reasons was to reach the end of the road to exhaustion. Rehab would be a good excuse to escape from the clutches of the media and from the grasps of groping fan girls. He was even ready to adorn orange robes and visit Dalai Lama... who'd welcome him with open arms. But he was pretty darn sure that his sinned feet wouldn't be allowed to enter such holy grounds. Those lips of his might be famed for the sounds they produced during concerts but they were also responsible for the thousands of lies that he had uttered to reach the top of his game.

And this dual personality of his was finally taking a toll on his sanity. He had everything he had wanted... but why did he have that sinking feeling that something wasn't quite right about it. Ever since he got pushed into becoming an idol by his agency, he had never thought he'd be so popular ... even less to be voted by teen girls to be the numero one handsome guy in the biz and according to IBuzz, the 53rd most sexiest man in history. Not that he minded it. Fame was like an intoxicating drug but he had to be careful nevertheless. There was always a possibility of getting overdosed on it.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the door in wait. His secretary would bounce in any moment, telling him where he'd have to be in the next hour, which celebrity he was supposed to be shaking hands with and whom to kiss on the cheeks and whom not to. Was he bored? Hell, yes. Was he unhappy to be alone? Not really. He was enjoying the silence. Admittedly, he didn't get enough of it these days. After being stuck listening to the host drone on his non-existent girlfriend/s and his fabricated musical achievements, he was really relieved that the show was over and he had been left alone.

But even so... the four walls surrounding him had never seemed more suffocating.

..--..

The four walls surrounding her had never seemed more suffocating. There were countless places she'd have wanted to be at this precise moment. Hawaii, New York, Tokyo, Shanghai, Moscow, Under Grandma Agatha's bed ... but she was stuck here of all places... in the middle of nowhere, stroking the wet fur of a stray cat she had just taken in while her landlady almost electrocuted herself by buzzing her doorbell for the umpteenth time tonight. She wondered who she should feel pity for. Herself or the older woman? It was her own entire fault that she hadn't paid the rent for the last two months.

The black and white striped cat meowed loudly in approval as she ran her hand over the length of its arch. Erin pouted as she stared into its yellow eyes. "Keep it down, will ya? Or that pesky woman might return for round two... And I daresay, my ears can't take any more of that ringing doorbell."

The cat purred... perhaps in understanding.

A rueful smile broke out on Erin's lips as she watched him in part awe and part sympathy. "You poor thing... Don't worry about it. Those ruddy boys will learn their lessons with time. But still... what would have happened if I hadn't seen them throwing you into the gutter, hn?"

The cat didn't say anything in reply but crouched over its bowl of milk and licked it clean.

Mr. Bubble, as Erin had named him, wasn't quite aware that he wasn't the first stray animal to have been rescued from the 'gallows of hunger' by this bubbly pianist. He wasn't aware that the girl had plowed into the gutter's dirty waters (and ruined her only evening dress in the process) just to rescue him. He wasn't aware that his newfound master was feeding him with the last carton of milk in this small rat hole of an apartment. Mr. Bubble was also conveniently unaware that Erin had just been fired at the late night pub where she worked (for showing up in the said ruined dress for her evening performance).

The cat, in spite of its acute understanding of this kind stranger's life, did know one thing... that Erin was just as lonely and homeless as he was. Her eyes said it all... especially as he watched her finger the keys of a rusty piano in one corner of the cramped living room, mouthing a silent song to herself. He didn't watch her for long. The dinner was more important in times like these.

Mr. Bubble made his disapproval obvious when all the milk was gone and the bowl was empty. And being the self-absorbed cat he was, he didn't like 'empty'.

Erin stared back at him moodily. "You really must have been hungry, hn? But I've got nothing more. Wait... let me check the refrigerator one last time."

Her head disappeared behind the fridge's door, which was covered with many colorful post-it's, most reminding her to 'Pay The Rent!' and a few reminding her to 'Get a New Job!'. Someone could mistake them for motivational quotes but to Erin, they were more depressing than inspiring. She rummaged through the emptiness inside the fridge and a deep humming sound broke out of her vocal chords... which the cat mistook as a sign of food. When he pranced his way around her and caught a glimpse of the contents of the fridge, he found himself staring into nothing...

Well, not exactly.

There seemed to be a half open can of tuna deep inside but from the awful odor it emanated, even he knew that it was nowhere close to edible. The cat looked back up at its master but did not sympathize with her.

"Sorry..." she said again.

Loud thumping broke through the silence like a butter knife through paper. The landlady was indeed back for round two... looking like a pro-boxer armed with her boxing gloves, all ready to pounce on her enemy.

Erin sighed in despair and closed her ears with the palm of her hands. She could hear the old woman throwing curses at her door. It was going to be another long, sleepless night.

But then again, perhaps not. She had never earned enough to fix her termite-infested door and it was bound to fall off its hinges any minute. She was starting to wonder whether she should tie all her sheets into a rope and escape through the open window.

Of course, an easier option would be paying the landlady of the much overdue rent. But to cough up that kind of dough, she'd have to sell the one thing in her possession, she treasured the most. Her old piano. It would definitely fetch a lot at an antique store. But she didn't have the heart to sell it... not even if someone was ready to pay her a million bucks. Because some things in life were much too priceless to be sold.

But her debt was overwhelming.

She looked at the cat ruefully... who seemed vexed. With an angry hiss, he seemed to say 'Don't you dare try to sell me now,' but Erin was lost in her own little world to care.

"... Goddam money," she muttered to herself.

..--..

"Goddam money," he muttered to himself. Where was it when he needed it the most?

Charteris found it to be a laughable irony that even though his bank account was overflowing, he didn't have a single penny in his pocket at the moment. No one would expect a super star like him to carry around a wallet. Credit cards- yes but not hard cash. He never had the need to spend. Just a snap of his fingers was enough to earn him a free dinner at a lavish French restaurant, a new supermodel girlfriend and sometimes, even a diamond studded watch. All he needed to do in return was to make sure that every time he walked the red carpet, the photographers caught a clear glance of it... it being either the diamond studded Swiss watch or the supermodel girlfriend. A bit of posing might even add to his revenue.

He groaned when he saw two guards standing outside the backdoor. Dressed in a long overcoat, a blond wig and a pair of dark sunglasses, he had the distinct aura of looking like a hippie from the peace movement of the 70s. Brushing his appearance aside, he eyed the narrow entrance warily. His credit cards couldn't bail him out of this situation but maybe his 'gorgeous, lithe' legs could. If there was only another way to slip past the two men without them realizing who he was... His feeble disguise wouldn't even pull the wool over the eyes of the densest idiots in the world. But he had to give it a shot...

His fingers traced the ends of his wig, pulling them tightly over his head and masking any trace of the brown hair that lay beneath. Straightening the front straps of his coat, he took a deep breath in and started walking in their direction. As he approached them, the two burly men eyed him suspiciously... or to be more precise, eyed his blond wig with mistrust. "Bonjour," he greeted them in a fake French accent as he tried to pass them.

One of the men caught his collar and pulled him back. "Not so fast... Where's your pass?"

"... Passé, Monsieur?" Chart echoed nervously.

"Eh? I meant your backstage pass. Don't you speak English?"

Sadly, Chart didn't know French all that well except for the few words he had picked up from his fans.

"Je't aime," he mumbled the phrase from the top of his head and didn't have the slightest clue to what it meant.

"What?"

"Je't aime," he said again, praying that the guard didn't know French either.

"Never mind. Move along," the guard let him go with a huff.

The eyes of the men followed his darting figure to the parking lot and with a quick gallop; he left them in his dust.

Charteris smirked to himself. 'Well, what to do you know... they were the densest idiots in the world,' he thought to himself, while scooting away as furtively as possible.

Everything went smooth until he heard some girls screaming his name in the distance. And that's when he made a run for it, like an antelope trying to get rid of the predator from its trail. He ran across a busy street, hobbling past the numerous people thronging around the shops to finally stop at a traffic junction. He suddenly realized that his head felt lighter than usual. When his hands went up to grope the empty space on top of his head, he groaned and cursed aloud.

He had lost the wig...

The outside world had taught him his first lesson. Freedom comes at a heavy price.

..--..

Freedom comes at a heavy price. Erin realized the truth behind it as she caressed her back, trying to soothe the pain. She made a mental note that using the fire exit was not the most brilliant idea that her confounded mind had come up with in the last few days. She got up to her feet, her hands straightening her crumpled dress and her tousled hair that had many twigs sticking out. She looked back up at her balcony and could still hear a fierce knocking on her front door. A soft purr in the vicinity broke her out of her reverie.

She looked down and found Mr. Bubble caressing her feet with its soft, still damp fur.

"You followed me?" she blurted out, trying to wedge the feline away from her feet.

The cat let out a hiss.

She sighed in pity and nudged the cat with one numb hand. "You can't come along," she told him hesitantly. "You don't want to be stuck with someone as hopeless as me."

The cat purred again not understanding a word that she had said. She sighed aloud again and picked the cat up. Stroking it in the safety of her hands, she walked aimlessly into the distance as if an invisible door might open up at any time and lead her down the right road.

"Well, I'd rather spend my last night with someone like you," she mumbled to herself.

It was true. Perhaps she didn't need to choose the road to take... it had already chosen her. Her feet had brought her soundlessly to her destination.

..--..

He was leaning across its corroded steel railing, looking at the waters flowing underneath him. The sky was the color of twilight; dark, foreboding and alluring in its gothic charm. His grip on the railing became sweatier with the passage of every minute in spite of the cold wind. Towering above the small houses in the district, he could see a huge LCD tower many blocks away. His own face would surprise him by showing up on the screen every now and then, a bottle of skin softening lotion in his hands and a quirky smile playing on his lips... a smile that deceived everyone but himself.

In the faint mist of the night, the rippling river seemed to be inviting him to drown his problems. His eyes moved around in search of any unwanted visitors intruding into his solitude. To his relief, he was apparently alone. It was deadly silent all around him, a silence regularly punctured by the sound of a street cat yodeling blues into the night followed instantly by shouts of 'Shuttup, you damned stupid cat!'.

Wigless and tired from his exhausting run, he turned back to the melancholic waters flowing below. They seemed to beckon him. Whatever he was about to do next, wouldn't escape the notice of the paparazzi. He could even predict the headlines of tomorrow and the special story that every news channel would cover. 'Popular Idol Jumps To An Early Death'. 'The Suicide of Charteris: Special Coverage'. 'Exclusive: A Look Into The Deranged Mind of Charteris Sullivan'.

It was with all these thoughts in mind that Chart took a tight grip on the railing and was about to hoist himself over the rods. But something peculiar caught his attention from the corner of his eyes. Whipping his head to the right, he found a girl climbing over the railing, a few feet from himself, intent to do the act that he had been contemplating on doing in the past ten minutes. His lips went dry and for a moment, he wondered whether his imagination was acting up. His own mission of suicide forgotten, he found himself walking towards her, his polished boots trampling on the dried leaves littering the pathway across the bridge. "Hey you!" he called out. The words had slipped out on their own and his own voice seemed so alien to him.

She turned to him with raised eyebrows, her one jean clad leg still hanging limply over the railing. Being vain and metrosexual, he found himself bothered by what she wore. The girl had no sense of fashion at all. Her worn out t-shirt looked like something out of the grunge style of the early nineties.

"Yes?" she asked him, in a challenging tone that he wasn't quite used to.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked back, hazel eyes still keeping watch over her wavering body.

"What does it look like, smart Alec? I am going to jump!"

"Why?"

"Why? Err-give me a reason why I shouldn't," the girl countered.

For the first time in his life, Charteris was stumped and left speechless. Never before did he need a reason to explain himself to anyone. Everyone around him had worshipped him for the semi-god that he was, in the entertainment industry. They attended to his whims and fancies without a second glance. But from the look of things, this annoying girl wasn't about to back down until he came up with a valid and justified argument to stop her.

"Well... this spot is umm- taken," was his oh-so valid and justified argument.

"By whom?" she asked, looking revolted.

"Me, of course!" he replied with the air of a rising star, climbing high on the billboard countdown.

She stared back at him tersely and ignoring him, she looped another leg across the railing.

"Hey! I told you to stop... If you want to suicide, do it somewhere else. This bridge is mine! I came first and the rule of the land is... first come, first serve."

She gave him another hard look. "It's a long bridge, mate. How much space do you need?"

"You are obviously not aware of who I am. If word gets out that I committed suicide with a girl who looks like that..." he scrunched up his nose and pointed at her worn out t-shirt and continued, "... my fashion designer would be sure to follow our footsteps. Seriously, what's up with that shirt? Looks like a couple of rats have chewed on it and spat it out in disgust... "

Much to Chart's annoyance, the girl hadn't listened to any of his insults. Instead she was looking down at the waters flowing below and probably gauging the height to which she was about to tumble to her death. He was flabbergasted. Never before in his life, had someone dared to ignore him. He stood there, gaping at her and gnawed his teeth in disbelief. It was at this serene moment when a third party made their presence felt. Chart looked down to see a cat sitting near the foot of the railing and watching him through yellow eyes.

"Oh yeah..." the girl said, turning around in her perched spot, her arms hanging onto the bridge post dangerously. "Take care of the cat when I am gone, alright?"

"WHAT?"

"I found Mr. Bubble a few hours ago. Poor little kitty was going to be thrown into the gutter by those ruddy boys of Carla. Thank God I rescued him just in time. So, take care of him when I am gone. Feed him twice a day and get him one of those cute pink ribbons that you get at Kempley's-"

"Are you mental? I said this bridge is mine. So, go somewhere else to die and take your stupid mangy cat with you!"

"What's with the attitude? Like I said, there is enough space for two people to jump. See, I'll take the left end and you take the right end... I can jump first and then you can follow."

"Look, girlie. Let me put it to you this way... When I imagined my death, I wanted it to be shocking... grand... spectacular, something that will make me immortal in the eyes of the public. If you die here along with me, then all the attention would go to you. People will start to wonder who you were... and why the hell you were accompanying a superstar to his horrifying death? See... that would make my suicide mellower, don't you think? Cos' people would be dwelling more on you... "

"Hmmm," the girl drawled. "True... I think I understand how you feel."

"You do?"

"Yes and I know just what you need..."

"Like what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Balloons."

"Balloons?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Yes, balloons will be a spectacular way to die, right? So, why don't you hop over to that dingy shop at the end of the street while me and my silly neck will be long gone into the rippling waters below by the time you return. How is that for a plan?"

She missed the glare he sent across to her. "Crazy and half-assed plan, in my humble opinion," he retorted, catching hold of her arm.

"Hey, let go..." she sputtered in annoyance.

"No, get off this instant. This bridge is mine and the only one dying here tonight will be me!"

Erin sighed. Gone were the days when a guy used to stop a girl from jumping off a cliff to save her from a dreadful end. Now a days the knight in shining armor wanted to reserve the spot for himself. She opened her mouth to protest and give the guy a good piece of her mind. But something in the distance caught her attention. One of the huge LCD screens, many blocks away, had lit up and showered the dark district in colorful colors. Ignoring the pretty sight, she found herself staring at a familiar face... the smiling face of an idol who seemed to be sponsoring a lotion. There was no doubt about it... the same angular face, the same snobby nose, the same self-absorbed smile... She turned back to the guy holding onto her arm and saw him running a vain hand through his dyed brown hair.

"Aha..." she exclaimed, wiggling her eyebrows.

"What?" he muttered, meeting her eye-to-eye.

"You're the pop idol! Chart... Chart... darn, what the heck is your first name?"

"Charteris," he emphasized through narrowed, piercing eyes.

"Oh yeah. You're the dude with the funny name. Charteris umm-whatsyerlastname?"

"... Sullivan," he replied, mortally offended by her ignorance.

"Okay, Charteris Sullivan it is. So, Mr. Sullivan, would you be kind enough to let go of my arm now?"

"Err-no?" he replied humorlessly.

The quiet hum of an engine drew them out of their quarrel. In their short scuffle with each other, the two of them did not notice a police bike approaching them. "What's going on there?" the inspector yelled from the distance, his loud, booming voice carrying over the rum-drum of his flashy motorcycle. It's red swirling lights almost blinded the suicidal duo.

Erin and Charteris took one glimpse at the man as he parked his bike and then, they stared at each other in panic.

"Look what you did now!" Erin hissed back at him.

"What the hell did I do? It's all your fault for being a copycat..." Charteris spat back.

"WHAT? Didn't you ever learn that you never oughta interrupt a suicidal person?"

"No, all I ever learnt was to keep away from loud mouthed girls. And unfortunately, I skipped that lesson tonight."

In the brief tousle in which they tried to overpower one another, Erin slipped and since he was generously connected to her elbow, he too lost his balance and toppled over the squalid railing. In that careless moment, the two of them, despite their incessant needs to jump into the river, now didn't like the idea all too much... and for good reason.

Splash!

The icy cold water almost froze his dizzy head and other parts of his body. He began flapping his arms out in desperation, fighting hard to stop himself from drowning when a strange truth became apparent. His clumsy feet found the wet, weedy bed of the shallow stream and he drew himself out of the water, looking for the other idiot who had fallen along with him.

She surfaced moments after him, gasping for air. A bunch of weeds and a plastic bag had entangled into her mop-like hair.

He made his way across to her and caught hold of her shoulders.

"You alright?" he asked her, grounding her feet on the shallow bed.

The girl coughed out the remnants of her underwater scuba diving stunt. Pulling at the ends of her shirt, she squeezed the water out of them with a huff. Having regained her composure, she now stared down at the water, which rose only to her waist level.

"Damn," she said.

"Why, what's wrong?" Charteris asked in concern. Worried that she might have hurt herself, he placed his hand on her head and searched for signs of injuries.

"This isn't even a river... it's a goddam stream," she stated.

"No shit, Sherlock," he said with a smirk, one hand flipping her nose.

"Wow..." Erin exclaimed again.

"What is it now?"

"Those skin softening lotions really do work, eh?"

"Shut up!"

..--..

The police officer hurriedly jogged to the end of the bridge and looked down in search of the couple that had jumped off the ledge. He had wasted too much time, trying to park his bike in a safe spot. It wasn't his fault that the department was nitpicky about the insurance behind their motor vehicles. And it really wasn't his night for being stuck in a lousy neighborhood, trying to rescue suicidal morons in the dead hour of the night. He found the aforementioned suicidal morons standing in the middle of the stream, still squabbling with one another. The man wiped the trickle of sweat on his forehead and let out a long sigh.

"What's wrong with couples these days?" he mumbled out aloud in relief. "Jumping off a bridge like that... Jeez. A bunch of crazy idiots. This is what too much television does to the kids... In my days, a bunch of flowers to the lady always solved the problem. Atleast that's how I've managed to stay married for this long..."

"So, you're a pianist?" he heard the boy ask the girl. He caught hold of her elbow and started pulling her to safety.

"Yes, an unemployed pianist, so to say..." she added ruefully.

The boy chuckled. "Well, if you're talented enough, I could get you a spot somewhere..."

"Really?"

"Yeah... it will be a good way for me to earn back some karma."

Erin stared at him, completely stumped. Her eyes lit up in gratitude. She opened her mouth to say a word but the boy hushed her.

"No need to thank me... " he said haughtily. "I am quite well aware of my benevolent, generous nature. Angelic souls like me are rare in this insane world," Chart prided himself.

"Actually, all I wanted to say was... there is a funny looking frog sitting on top of your head."

"WHAT? Why didn't you tell me before?"

And the night was now punctuated by the shrieks of a vain idol followed by the giddy laughter of a newly employed pianist.

Mr. Bubble who had been sitting under the railing all this while couldn't have agreed more with the police officer. The duo really complemented each other where stupidity was concerned. Because in the end of it all, there was nothing more foolish than fishing in shallow waters... like those two had been. The cat gazed back at the two figures emerging out of the darkness and scrambling their way to the stream's shoreline. But though in the end, they never caught any fish, atleast they had found each other... which was a whole lot better, wasn't it?

Speaking of fish, Mr. Bubble regretted leaving Erin's fridge untouched. That half open can of tuna seemed really inviting all of a sudden.

..--..