I walked into his office. He had a big chair. He had a big desk. He turned around. He had a small mouth. I said, I'm going to kill you. He said, You shouldn't. I said, Why not.

He had a big cigar. He had a small lighter. He said, For a number of reasons. He said, First of all, you don't have any reason to. I sat down on a big couch. He walked around the desk. He had small feet and a small suit with big pockets. He said, Second, you don't even know me and third, you don't have a weapon.

I got up and walked to the big window. The big city looked small. We were in a big skyscraper. He had a big head with a small bald spot. He said, So you shouldn't kill me but you're going to anyway. I said, Yeah.

I picked up his big suitcase, ruffled through it. You won't find what you're looking for in there, he said. I didn't. He had big papers on his desk and a big picture of his wife, a small klik-klak toy, a big gold watch. I said, It's here somewhere. He said, Probably not, I don't know, it's not something I keep track of.

I kept looking. I tossed papers to the floor, I crumpled them into small balls, I kicked over the big lamp, I found the small round red thing I was looking for, I threw it at the big window that shattered into small pieces and fell into the big small city.

He said, Now you've got a small problem. He was right. Then I killed him. Now I've got a big problem.