Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities

Despite the gleaming springtime outdoor sunshine, a dark attitude haunted Kia Ford’s London apartment flat, creating a sightless environment.

“Could you turn the switch on,” requested an agitated Peacock holding a fluorescent flashlight, “I cannot see a thing back here!”

“Are you still trying to fix that bloody bubble machine?” Kia Ford gloriously appeared.

“I would like to have it operational for the holiday weekend,” the Peacock emerged, “and bring some life to this dismal place.”

“My British property is not dismal,” Kia Ford stood her ground.

“It does need goals and bubbles,” the Peacock pressed a button, “check it out.”

“Success,” Kia Ford affirmatively acknowledged, “Do you hear something?”

Scurrying towards the balcony overlook, the Peacock pulled the slash noticing an unknown yellow illumination guiding a musical spiritual movement outside, “when the Saints, come marching in,” the two listened.

“That sounds far from dismal,” Kia Ford retorted.

“Well, I will let them in,” the Peacock offered, unlocking the wooden entry.

Suddenly, a glowing special effect invaded the dwelling, awe inspiring both the Peacock and Kia Ford. “Wow!” The Peacock exclaimed.

“I am the Saint spirit,” the apparition greeted, “travelling the relegation highway, tempting you, join me.”

Captivated, wanting a fiery adventure, the Peacock nearly escaped, grabbing the prepacked mountain climbing attire hidden in a secret area, “where are you going? Peacock,” Kia Ford sternly warned.

“Nowhere,” the Peacock quietly admitted, sacrificing the home stage.

“Anyway, American, who is a united west ham, what are your opinions about being at the table’s bottom half? Feeling hunka hunka burnin love?”

Taking a step back, Kia Ford honestly answered the holy ghost, “nothing I can climb out of,” she watched the Peacock’s shoulders shrug.

“Good,” the saintly spirit continued the path lighting candles, handing them to the hosts before entering the living room. Residing there for over forty-five minutes, sitting patiently, waiting until, “excuse me,” Kia Ford issued the complaint, “do you even have a goal? Today,”

“Do you?” Retaliated the saintly spirit.

When an unknown character recited a magical formula, the Bowen shrine transitioned into a winning pinball contraption, while the GP battery generated bubble machine exploded into action.

“Oh dear,” Kia Ford addressed, “I have a goal.”

Taking the action, coming from above in stride, the saintly spirit continued not having any goal interest.

“What are we supposed to do with these candles?” Asked the peacock, still noticing the afternoon sun’s influence keeping the room bright.

“Help me get to relegation,” the saintly spirit answered.

“Won’t it secure your relegation spot if I have a goal and you have none,” Kia Ford calculated.

“Well,” the saintly spirit pondered, “yeah.”

As the event meeting clock ticked away, the Peacock returned to the perch and raised a candle. This gesture conjured an appearance in the blue-sky picturesque cloud, and Saint Peter wondered, “what can I do for you? Peacock,”

“A lost soul,” the Peacock responded, “is going off to relegation.”

“Relegation? Or a place where they will be able to get goals?” Saint Peter compared the factual realities, “they will also be the top of the table, not bottom.”

“You got a point there,” the Peacock agreed when a beautiful eagle finished a flight, landing perfectly, “that is not a bald eagle, Peacock, it’s God’s Eagle.”

“And he delivered a goal,” the saintly spirit realized, “for me.”

“Isn’t that nice, we are even, and I got the point, so do you,” Kia Ford desperately needing three smiled showing the visitor the door.

“That sure was interesting,” Kia Ford mentioned, and the peacock naturally put an arm around her, “do you want to go to the beach?”

“Get gulls from the seagulls?”

“Yeah,”

“Next week, Peacock, next week.”