Reay Jespersen

There was a shy knock on the door. Judy answered it, finding Satan standing on the doorstep.
“Morning, Stan,” she said cheerfully, always having been more comfortable with the truncation.
“Morning, Judy,” Satan said warmly. “Listen, my, uh… lawnmower’s acting up again, and I’m sure you’ve noticed my front lawn…” He smiled sheepishly as she nodded. The neighbourhood committee would have a fit.
“Ours is in the garage,” she said. “Help yourself.” He thanked her and left.
She closed the door, shaking her head. Always loaning to him. Such was life in street number 668, the neighbour of the Beast.