Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

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Harry is a fixture of my daily commute. Two-three times on the way in to the office and two-four more times on the way home, depend-ing on traffic. Don't know what I'd do if I had to take the subway.

Guess I'd have to poke those micro speakers into my brain so I could hear the radio properly. Here's Harry's latest radio ad. It's classic Harry.

"Five days and five days only at the airport convention centre, we're having a fantastic—our largest ever—the city's most gigantic ever—

suit sale. Six tractor trailers filled with an unbelievable collection of stunning suits—suits for every man, boy, and child—are arriving now, even as I speak. The selection is fabulous, the prices rock-bottom, and the quality—Harry's. But don't wait, 'cause even though there are thousands and thousands of beautiful suits—gorgeous suits—they're gonna go like hotcakes. They're gonna go like nobody's business."

Can't miss Harry's ads. They're on every station. And they're almost too easy to remember. Stopped at a red light, I sometimes catch myself keeping up with Harry.

I decided I'd better get out there—to the convention centre. I needed a new dark suit, and I always got my suits from Harry.

Fabulous selection and rock-bottom prices—trademark Harry.

Quality? Well, occasionally an alteration or two was in order to make both sleeves 42 Long, but Harry had the best tailors in town and alterations never came to more than 10 percent. Besides, Harry was such a nice fellow. EVERYBODY said so.

First published in Linguistic Erosion, July 13, 2014.