Phraedus woke up one morning and started writing part of his thesis. Frank, Phraedus’s imaginary friend (but don’t tell him that) suggested Phraedus go sit on his balcony and write for a while.
So Phraedus did this. He wrote and wrote, and scribbled notes on pages, little reminders and codes to move this here, and write that there. He wrote all morning, sipping cups of tea while he wrote furiously.
“I’m fininshed”. Phraedus smiled to himself, and said to Frank.
Just then, a gust of wind came and blew the papers every which way but down. They blew some of them into the corner, and some of them over the balcony.
Phraedus and Frank both leaped at the papers, but it was too late. They bumped into one another, and the paper flew off the balcony.
Phraedus ran to the door, and Frank quickly checked that he had the keys. They ran down and down and down the stairs, wondering what had happened to the paper.
Phraedus and Frank moved up and down the street, carefully checking all of the places it might have landed.
Time passed, but there was no sign of the paper.
An italian lady bent down and picked something up. Maybe she found the paper Frank thought!
“Ask her if she’s got it” Frank said.
“No you ask” Phraedus replied.
“I can’t, I’m invisible”, said Frank smuggly.
So Phraedus asked the lady, but she was picking up something she dropped herself.
Some more time passed.
Eventually Frank said to Phraedus “we might as well give up”
“I guess I can write them again” replied Phraedus glumly.
“Ok, lets go home” they both agreed with Frank.
On the balcony, as they were gathering the rest of the papers, and resolving to use a staple next time, Phraedus noticed something in the tree.
“What’s that?” Phraedus exclaimed, though he knew he was gramatically asking a question.
“Where?” Frank replied puzzled.
“Over there, in the tree” Phraedus smiled and pointed, excitedly.
“IT’S THE PAPER!” they both yelled loudly.
They went downstairs, and shook the tree.
“Don’t hurt it’s feelings” Frank said softly.
“What?” Phraedus asked, once again puzzled.
“The deep ecologists think trees have feelings, and that they are intrinsically valuable.”
Frank and Phraedus looked at each other and laughed.
They were about to climb the tree, being careful not to hurt it’s feelings when a painter walked by.
Phraedus asked the painter “I know this is strange, did you just come out of appartment 1?”
“Yes, why?” The painter replied.
“Because my paper is in the tree, and if I could use your appartment, I could reach the paper.”
“Ok. The door is open, be careful.” replied the painter, and went merrily on his way.
As they walked through the empty appartment, Frank thought that he would miss the smell of mary jane now that his neighbours were gone. And it didn’t smell like this painter was chuffing.
While Frank pondered, Phraedus leant over and shook the tree with a broom, dislodging the paper, which floated gracefully to the ground.
“Yay!” they both exclaimed, copying the models from Zoolander with a jumping high five and their feet touching their behinds. Being careful not to fall off the balcony of appartment one.
They gathered up the papers, quickly stapled them together, and went merrily on their way to have gnochi for lunch. It seems they had both gartered quite a apetite with their little adventure.
The End.
