The front fell off

I’d just set off in the car when I noticed this fellow chasing after me, so I stopped to see what he wanted.

He said, ‘Your horn’s fell off.’

I said, ‘You what?’

He said, ‘Your horn’s fell off.’

I got out and looked. The horn was on the ground, only attached to Henry by its wire. What was I supposed to do about that?

Luckily, the man had an idea. He unplugged the horn from its wire and gave it to me. I might not be able to beep at people, but at least I could drive off without bits dragging dangerously on the road.

I thanked the fellow and put the horn in the car. We each carried on our merry ways, one of us having done their good deed for the day, and the other relieved to have provided the opportunity.

On my way home, I went to the garage.

I held out Henry’s horn and said, ‘This fell off.’

They asked what had happened, so, to the amusement of the mechanics and another customer, I told them the tale.

I left them trying to find somewhere to reattach it to that hasn’t already disintegrated into rust.

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