“Good morrow, Mrs. Clarke!” said Cuchulainn. “How do you fare?”
“Good morning.” Mrs. Clarke took a shovel from her garage. “Really praying for a break from this.”
“The snow is treacherous, yes,” said Cuchulainn. “Mayhaps I can help you.”
“Oh, would you?”
“Yes, just shut up.” Cuchulainn stepped into the garage. “I need your gasoline.”
“What!”
“My uncle is hiding ours again.”
“I can’t say I have any just lying around.” Mrs. Clarke pretended to look. “But I can give you ten bucks to shovel the -”
“Why on earth would I shovel anything when I can melt it?” Cuchulainn laughed. “Fire is a man’s best friend, Mrs. Clarke.”
“Please don’t set our driveways on fire.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I know what I am doing!”
“I don’t have any gasoline, anyway, Cuchulainn.”
“Please?” said Cuchulainn. “I am so bored. Even if you just give me an old wicker chair.”
“To burn?”
“What else are we talking about, you old idiot? Yes!”
“Alright, well, I’ll shovel it myself, then!”
“But I want my ten dollars!” Cuchulainn shouted.
Mrs. Clarke shook her head. “Then get to work.”
“First let me talk to that recluse across the street,” said Cuchulainn. “He looks like a gasoline hoarder.”
“But Cuchulainn -”
He took the money and ran.