“We didn’t intend to waste your time sir, but all I can say in my own defense is that the present time is a quarter past eleven,” Said the ferret in an attempt to regain his composure, “but please except our most earnest apologies.”

“You’re wrong,” the mole replied calmly, “all this time you were wasting my time and now nearly three minutes have passed unnoticed. However, despite your irresponsibility I will accept your pardon.”

The ferret turned a fine shade of cherry red in astonishment of the comment.

“Beg your pardon; we were wasting your time?” The ferret inquired politely.

“You already have my pardon. Now I wish you a good evening and rest of your lives.”

“Well thank you. Good evening to you as well.”

The ferret pulled out a pack of fagots and slid out two cowboy sticks of cancerous esteem. A match flared and lit up the colorless shadow for a moment and then settled into a small glow as he held it below the cigarette for a light. He puffed the smoke and let out the same low cough as he caught the other and offered it to his companion.

As for the streetlight, he spent the next three years writing a book series by the name of “Authentic New-York style Chinese food made easy, thirty-three ways to bleach your stubborn whites, and the eavesdropping on out of the ordinary tête-à-tête conversations beneath the lamppost” before his indefinite removal from the line of streetlights for a reoccurring bulb malfunction. Although diagnosed as faulty circuitry, I should say that I personally believe the lamppost failed from a broken heart. So now we come to the moral of the story, which is a very simple fact of life; when you meet an unbearable mole, forget how to tie your laces, or find yourself lying in a pool of your own vomit, whatever the case may be, look up, a streetlight may be watching.