Short Story

I met a man on the roadside with a bucket of onions. He told me was waiting for someone to come along with their own bucket of onions. He hoped that he could finally finish the onion war his great grandfather started back when onions were called horse apples. I told him that onions were never called horse apples. He asked where’d I leave my bucket of onions. I said all I have is this bucket of rocks. - Ross