Bill

Herbie Dobson was sitting by one of the many windows in the upstairs part of his house when a man with a camera showed up in the garden to take a picture of him. Dobson jumped to his feet and opened the window.

'It's Bill isn't it?' he shouted down to the man.

'No,' replied Bill, 'I'm Don.'

'Don? There's no such name as 'Don'. Where's Bill?'

'I don't know who Bill is,' said the photographer.

'You're Bill,' said Dobson sarcastically before spitting big green phlegm globules down at Bill. Bill danced around below, successfully avoiding them, alternately sneering at Dobson and taking pictures of his furious face to enjoy later.

'The devil take you!' shouted Dobson eventually, shaking his fist at Bill before leaving the house in order to compose himself.

He walked briskly in no particular direction with his head down trying to banish from his mind the unsettling events that had precipitated this turn out. He continued walking until he was met by a man coming towards him from the opposite direction. Dobson paid him little attention but stepped off the narrow pavement on to the road so as not to impede the man's progress.

'Why did you do that then?' came the man's voice from behind him, snapping him out of his reverie suddenly.

'Why did I do what?' asked Dobson, turning around to look at the man. It was Bill, but Dobson didn't recognize him, possibly because he no longer had his camera.

'You stepped off the pavement to allow me to stay on it. Do you think I'm better than you, is that it?'

'Not at all,' said Dobson, 'it's plain for all to see that you are vastly inferior to me in almost every way. Although in terms of ugliness and fatheadedness you are clearly my superior, and I am envious of both your grotesque appearance and your inability to grasp the simplest of concepts.'

'Very well', replied Bill, feeling placated. 'I thought for a moment you were attempting to hog all the courtesy for yourself.'

'Oh no, I would never do that,' said Dobson. And with that he punched the man with all his strength, almost losing his fist in the man's face as it exploded in a shower of blood, snot and teeth. The man fell backwards in to the road and was fatally squashed under the wheels of a huge tractor, which by terrible coincidence happened to be passing at that very moment.

Dobson, who felt very squeamish whenever confronted by people flattened by tractors, turned for home quickly. He felt a whole lot better for his walk. There was nothing a bit of fresh air couldn't solve!

On his way home he spied Bill getting out of his car and heading for the shop.

'Bill!' he called out. 'I want a word with you.'