Snow That Flurried Like Swimming Giraffes

The Snow that Flurried like Swimming GiraffesA Short Storyby Jane DoeFairydust Trescothik looked at the warped record in her hands and felt sparkly. She walked over to the window and reflected on her picturesque surroundings. She had always loved cold Glasgow with its ice-dancing, inquisitive igloos. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sparkly. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sharon Pitt. Sharon was a hilarious writer with greasy fingernails and wide abs.