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1In the quiet suburb of Oakshade, two gnomes divided a garden. One name is Cromwell; the other Cavendish. The entire street knew not to get involved in the petty squabble. The narrator rumbled from in front of the camera, his posture stiff I waiting for the next attack.
“Oi! You hear that Cavendish, he said my name first. ... Cromwell bellowed from the far side of the lawn, his lips quirking upwards at the taunt. He was currently pretending to water the flowers. He had wanted to be outside to see who the narrator mentioned first.
" Only because you're no good flower sniffer bribed him. “Cavendish snarled. His face hardened as he white-knuckled the trout in his hands. Anger rolled off him in waves.
‘‘Mr. Cromwell. You know —” The narrator tried to interrupt before Cromwell could start another fight.
"Flower sniffer!” Cromwell burst out laughing at the petty remark. He turned towards Cavendish, forgetting he had turned on the water hose to keep of the facade of watering flowers. “If I am a flower sniffer. Then so are you! We are both gnomes.
To be continued...
