Valentine's Day
Vince was trying to write a poem. So far, he had:
There once was a Nabootique
Where two friends who were both unique
Vince was a mod
Howard
Vince frowned, tapping his pen on the page. No, that wasn't right. He scrunched it up and tossed it over his shoulder to join the previous six attempts, pulled a new sheet of paper towards him and tried again.
Oh, you may not think he's pretty
But don't judge on what you see
There's no one more obsessed with jazz
Than Howard Moon, you see
Definitely not, Vince thought. Another ball of paper landed amongst its abandoned fellows.
Every night in my dreams, I see you, I
No. Vince ripped the sheet of paper into tiny pieces and thumped his head down onto the table. He was no good at poetry, it was Howard's talent. All Vince could do was copy other people's ideas. He sighed in frustration and sat up again, running one hand through his hair. It was a mark of his concentration that he didn't immediately check that it was still looking good in the mirror.
This is never going to work…Vince kicked his heels against the legs of the chair. It wasn't fair, he'd tried so hard and now it would all be for nothing. He should've gone out clubbing with Leroy and let Howard think he'd forgotten.
Wait – inspiration! Oh, but that was so obvious – how had he never thought of it before? Vince pulled another piece of paper towards him, and wrote a few simple lines. After a moment of thought, he folded it in half, and wrote "Howard" on the front. He left it on the table where he knew Howard would see it, and left the room grinning.
The note read:
Howard,
My boots are red
My eyes are blue
I am Vince Noir
And I do love you
Be my Valentine?