Everyone knows the story about William Tell shooting an apple off his son's head but not many know that the Tell family was huge into bowling, even joined a league. Sadly, the records weren't kept safe and to this very day we have no idea for whom the Tells bowled.
He just trailed off.
Started with a bang and phineased unexpectedly.
edit: woah my first award. thank you u/LingThingLS
Hands down camping. It was so in tents.
One time he told me how he hiked in the mountains, sat on a rock, and wondered all night where the sun had gone...
...and then it dawned on him.
I'd rate it tin out of tin. Big fan
White water rafting.
People called him leche-erous behind his back.
https://preview.redd.it/lbq37y164cd11.jpg?width=760&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7cc72b4d1bdd0123eaae2b32aa2627956ebb9bcb
The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.
The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.
Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.
“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.
“Please, call me Max”
“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”
“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”
