Zak Cornettonie paced up and down the path leading to a port-a-cabin that had been his office for the past three years. Zak was in his mid-fifties and wore a shiny grey suit that must have been made out of some sort of ‘miracle-grow’ stretchy material otherwise it would never have buttoned across his large stomach.
“Where is he?” he yelled impatiently at two of his sons, “Where’s that other useless brother of yours?”
They knew better than to make any reply. Standing a safe distance away from him, they let him rant away.
“And your poor old Ma,” he rubbed his forehead with his right hand and then swept it over his balding head, replacing the few strands of hair he’d got left back into place, “your Ma said all three of you were like me. Well you aint!”
The shorter of the two brothers couldn’t resist, “But we…
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