“Are we nearly there yet?”


“I said, are we nearly there yet?”

“Where do you think we’re going?”

“The sign says Epcot. I’ve always wanted to go to Epcot. I heard they’ve got some really cool stuff there.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation… Okay, go on: what do you know, or think you know about Epcot? “

“According to what I read—”

“You READ? You can read?”

“Of course. I am eight years old, you know.”

“Yes, but—”

“Anyway, I read that there’s acrobats and mimes and clowns and places for food and drink and… and… and… and there’s parts for all sorts of countries: France, Germany, Mexico, Brazil, India—”

“Yeah. I get the picture—”

“And even England.”

“Why even England?”

“Well, you don’t like them, do you?”


“The English. Toffee-nosed, self-important, entitled, upper-class snobs, you called them when you were talking on the phone last week.”

“Were you listening in to my phone call?”

“Hard not to when you’re in full flow with no volume control.”

“Even so…”

“So, anyway, there’s a whole load of cool stuff and I can’t wait to get in and see some of it for myself.”

“You do know you won’t be allowed in, don’t you? Not in the actual place.”

“Won’t I?”

“No, you won’t. You’ll have to wait outside whilst I go in and have myself a grand time!”

“That doesn’t seem very fair.”

“Fair or not, them’s the rules.”

“And which rule in particular do you believe will prevent me from entering the attraction?”

“The one that says NO DOGS ALLOWED.” 


This original fiction was written in response to Kreative Kue 377 published on this site earlier this week.


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