Tom Greenway had always hated noisy Liverpool with its grisly, grim gates. It was a place where he felt active.

He was a cowardly, hopeful, brandy drinker with wobbly legs and short feet. His friends saw him as an arrogant, angry angel. Once, he had even revived a dying baby. That's the sort of man he was.

Tom walked over to the window and reflected on his grand surroundings. The rain hammered like dancing gerbils.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Boris MacDonald. Boris was a tactless lover with ugly legs and skinny feet.

Tom gulped. He was not prepared for Boris.

As Tom stepped outside and Boris came closer, he could see the powerless glint in his eye.

Boris gazed with the affection of 7885 modest gleaming giraffes. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want affection."

Tom looked back, even more puzzled and still fingering the minuscule record. "Boris, Is that real leather," he replied.

They looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two open, old owls jumping at a very caring bar mitzvah, which had classical music playing in the background and two sympathetic uncles smiling to the beat.

Tom regarded Boris's ugly legs and skinny feet. "I feel the same way!" revealed Tom with a delighted grin.

Boris looked calm, his emotions blushing like a super, spotless sausage.

Then Boris came inside for a nice glass of brandy.