1377. No hot dog

It had been the most horrific twelve months of his life. Blair had undergone operations and chemotherapy and goodness knows what. And now he was as cured as he could be. His last appointment with the specialist was over. All was well. It was the beginning of a new phase of his existence. He was heading home.

That was when the writer of this story couldn’t decide whether to have him choke to death on a hot dog he bought on the way home, or let things alone.

“How may I help?” asked the shop assistant.

“I would like a hot dog, please.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re out of them.”

“Oh well.”

So that was decided. Blair returned to his car alive! Hurrah!

As he got into his car he had a heart attack.