Inktober 2026 - 12 - Toss

A man is sitting on a bench, in front of a fountain in the middle of a square surrounded by a couple of houses. He is facing away from one of them, from which a woman happens to be throwing clothes out of the highest window. Trousers, shirts, shoes, nothing appears to be spared. Many items are already scattered on the lawn, and more keep coming.

“I never like zat jacket anyway!” she yells in a heavy French accent as she gets rid of said piece of clothing.

The man does not seem disturbed by what is happening. He does not react every time he hears fabric landing on the grass. Every now and then, he does take out a coin out of his pocket, and lazily throws it into the fountain, but more to pass the time than anything else.

“Hello, neighbour! You all right?” a gentleman, about 10 years his senior, suddenly asks while walking towards him.

“Splendid! Care to join?” he answers, tapping the empty seat beside him.

The older man chuckles. He nods in agreement, before taking place next to him on the bench.

“It’s the third time this month,” he comments.

“As long as we keep it under once a week, I can manage. I don’t think the HOA minds, do you?”

“We do not. We do worry about you two, however.”

The younger man shrugs, as he takes out yet another coin from his pocket to fling it at the water a couple of metres away from him.

“There is really no need, I promise you.”

“What do you wish for, then?”

“Absolutely nothing, actually. I already have everything I could ever want and more.”

His neighbour seems surprised by this statement.

“Your lady is throwing your clothes out the window,” he reminds him gently.

“Which means I have a house from which she can do that, and clothes she can do that with, and more importantly, I have her caring enough about me to do that in the first place. She’s smart, she is beautiful, and she is passionate. I’m the luckiest guy in the world, as far as I’m concerned. If she keeps doing that to the day I die, then I’ll go happy.”

“It’s a nice perspective to have. Very wise. Shouldn’t you still try to apologise, though?”

The younger man’s eyes get bigger and he shakes his head.

“Oh, no! I tried that before we first moved in together and it only ever made things worse. It does not help AT ALL. I never even know what she’s mad about, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll tire herself out, go over what she thought to be evidence of misbehaviour on my part, realise she got it wrong, and we’ll make up. It’s great.”

“I should have know you tell me salads!”

The older man raises an eyebrow at the odd turn of phrase from the woman at the window.

“Meh. Don’t bother. Probably a French expression.”

“Your dry cleaner must love you.”

“A whole team of them do, indeed.”