Hey, since my game is so awful, why don't we play someone else's game—just to ease the pain?


"Mister Mayor, sir?" Isabelle scuttled through the Town Hall. With the sounds of squeaky feet bouncing off the walls, she made it over from her receptionist counter and over to the dark, disorderly desk in the far back of the room. She smiled timidly like she always did and drew out her pad of notes.

"What's happening?" A yawn came from the large, leather office chair behind the desk. The chair, which at first faced away from Isabelle, spun around in a 180, allowing a pair of feet to rest on the surface of the desk.

"Well, Mayor—sir," said Isabelle, "today is April 19, 2014. It's currently 12:07 in the afternoon…"

"I've got a watch, Isabelle." The Mayor laughed, and Isabelle shrunk back. She nodded and proceeded to flip through five pages of notes, chuckling with her boss—though, hesitantly.

"Of—Of course… Of course. I just—wanted to remind you, that's all." She flipped to the tenth page, gaining a small part of her assurance back. The Mayor leaned forward in his chair to listen.

"Today the Keep Greenfield Beautiful ordinance was activated, which means fewer weeds. The villagers are now more encouraged to plant, and more flowers are growing, like roses and pansies—and lilies… I love lilies; it's nice to see them growing more often."

The Mayor straightened up, smoothing out his green blazer. He was never a formal man, but he had to keep his image tidy most of the time. "That's great to hear. Anything else?"

"Yes, Dr. Shrunk arrived at the Hall yesterday morning. He told me he came to your house personally—no one answered. He figured you were asleep and asked me to, um, ask you if he could set up a comedy center on Main Street. Something called 'Club LOL', I believe."

The Mayor arched an eyebrow. Testing out the odd word slowly, he then asked Isabelle what in the world a "lol" was. Sounded like something fished out of the ocean, or the effect of a tonsillitis surgery gone awry.

"I think it stands for 'Laugh Out Loud', sir," replied Isabelle.

"Laugh Out Loud… Looolll… " The Mayor was deep in thought as he stroked the imaginary hairs on his chin. Isabelle imagined a light bulb flickering to life upon his head when he grinned and acknowledged Dr. Shrunk's witty use of wording. If he could conjure up something so sharp he was sure to be a big hit on the stage. A lot of good entertainment, a lot of visitors for the town—how devilishly brilliant, thought the Mayor. He couldn't have thought of anything more ingenious than that.

"Tell him I approve one hundred and fifty-five percent!"

Isabelle shied away. She always felt it would be better not to discuss drawbacks, whether it'd be for a new building or for fixing a light in a streetlamp. "Here's the thing, sir… In order to initiate the construction of Club LOL, we'll need at least six signatures from the villagers… But—we don't have to have a club if the process is too timewasting for you. I'm more than willing to talk with Dr. Shrunk about the decline—well, I'll be sad, of course. But you have to do what you have to do for the good of—"

"Time wasting! I've got more time than I need, Isabelle. Tell Dr. Shrunk I'll get his signatures in by next week."

"Y—Yes, sir!" Isabelle stood tall and gave a salute before heading to the door. The Mayor expressed his thanks and turned to his work, which was crafting a paper airplane—who said work had to be tedious?

Isabelle took a hold on the door handle when she remembered a notice she had so easily forgotten. She whirled back to the Mayor.

"Mister Mayor!" she called out. "I have one last thing! I'm sorry I didn't mention it before, though. Easily distracted… it's a habit. My apologies…"

The Mayor looked up from his desk. "I'm listening."

"There's a new visitor coming into town tomorrow. It would be kind of you—as the Mayor—to introduce yourself to him. I'm sure it would make him feel welcome. Hospitality and such."

"Do you have a name yet?"

"I sure do! It's… Just give me a moment of your time, please." She flicked through a page or two, skimming through a cluster of scribbly words. She was always lost in her own handwriting. Such a pesky fault.

"It's Steven."

The Mayor was a bit surprised; he figured something more unique—perhaps a "Fuchsia" or a "Bitty". Of course, a good portion of the villagers had common names, but some bore incredibly strange titles to which the Mayor would very much admire.

"I'll get right to it. 'Preciate the suggestion, Isabelle."

Isabelle curtsied, gave her timid smile, and shuffled out the door.