Sunday, March 09, 2008


The elegantly-attired stranger strode to the counter and smiled at the receptionist, his cape swirling about his shoulders.

“Welcome to Hammer Ridge Blood Bank, sir. How may we assist you?”

“I vhould like to make... a withdrawal.”

“Certainly, sir. How much?”

The stranger handed the girl a withdrawal slip. Her eyes grew wide.

Within minutes, burly workmen had wheeled several palletloads of bluish-red blood bags to the curb, where the stranger’s refrigerated van awaited.

As he began to drive away, the receptionist chased him down. She pointed, breathlessly, toward a drum of lymph.

“Sir! Wait! You almost forgot your interest!

[You can find a podcasted version of this story here.]

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