A rather tall, retired lawyer walked into a Miami Walgreens: he soon espied and approached his target, readily identifiable by her hideous handbag.
"Karen?"
She looked up from the items she'd been stocking: "Yes?"
"Hi. Uh, this is a bit awkward. I'm the guy who has been writing all those Mammie tales, and..."
"You're Mr. V?"
"Yes. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you to your face that I think I've gotten carried away with that stuff, I'm going to tone it down per your request."
Karen's mouth dropped open.
"Really?"
"Yes, at least I'll try, but I'll still poke fun on occasion if the situation warrants. And hey, you know how to write so why don't you take some creative writing shots at me, or at Boz? Turn about is fair play."
Karen paused to process this unexpected development.
"Why the turn around, Mr. V?"
"Believe it or not I don't dislike you, Karen, I just saw it as an opportunity for creative writing; you know, like scribbling jokes and poems on the walls of the public toilets. Plus as a retired family law attorney I sort of miss the stimulation of shredding people and holding them accountable for their words and actions, it's what I did for many years in divorce and custody cases and old habits die hard. But I think it's time to turn over a new leaf and move on. Bon Chance, Karen."
With that he snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
