As Elmer’s nocturnal eyes adjusted to the Title Pawn Boss’ lair, the scent of anchovy taunted Elmer’s empty stomach. His tummy responded with a grumble, which did little to endear him to “da Boss”.
Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Elmer fidgeted nervously. The room was loud with the sound of silence, save Elmer’s hunger pains and nervous movements. Finally, Elmer mustered the courage to deliver his plea for mercy.
“Mr. Boss, thank you for seeing me…my friends and I…well, we’ve had a little trouble coming up with the money to pay off our title pawn…and so I was wondering…well, we…we were wondering if…”
Elmer’s groveling was interrupted by the slight rise of the Title Pawn Boss’ paw. One sharp nail pointed Elmer to the door and the title pawn workers ushered him out. Elmer was thankful that Mr. Boss’ anatomy denied him the privilege of opposable thumbs, or else he may have received a thumbs down and been swimming with the fish that night.
Discouraged by his hopeless plea for mercy, Elmer left the Title Pawn company in search of something – a job, a friend with money, a buried treasure – anything to save him from this Title Pawn Trap.
