I fed the deer
This story happened before the New Year. We are a group of students rented a small house at Pocono – a wooded area near new York city. As in 8-bed house crammed 20 people this is not a story. As we are on the first floor toilet fell from the second floor too. This story is about how my friend Daimon feed the deer.
I must tell you that in these places the deer are not uncommon. They are often hit by drivers on the road. And upon arrival, we saw them in the distance. So, when at three in the morning, Dimon said, “I’ll go feed the deer,” we’re not too surprised. Perhaps our sense of wonder has been dulled by alcohol.
Taking the package of mushrooms from the fridge, Daimon disappeared behind the door. He appeared two hours later. His face shone with a smile. His eyes were meaningful and enlightening. “Guys,” he said. “I was feeding the deer.” “He took my mushrooms from the hands of his velvet lips.” He was glowing with happiness and his voice left no room for doubt.
In the morning, leaving the house, we saw the snow, the curve of the chain trace of the Daimon. They led us around the corner of the house. Coming closer, we saw that they ended at a plastic sculpture of a deer. Around him were scattered the mushrooms.