[What follows is a tale under 100 words. I may end up doing more of these.]
This story, a tragedy, begins as so many tragedies must: with flying snot.
As Art Mazursky’s nimble hands were busily punching numbers into the cash register, sleepy, nonagenarian Mrs. Philoctenes waited with eternal patience. She was, in fact, in the middle of a wide-mouthed yawn.
At that moment, the sneeze struck. Art turned his head sideways to avoid spraying his keypad. A vulgar mucus projectile shot out of his throat. It flew into Mrs. Philoctenes’s unsuspecting mouth. Art stared in horror as the old woman, startled out of her yawn, began to gag.
_
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