Excuse me. Lord Lodbrok? We have reserved seating for your Viking party, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to move your vehicle, sir.
Yes, I understand. You’ve sailed a long way this evening to dine on our Southside.
Oh, no sir. We’ve nothing against axe-bearing pagans here. However, I need to warn you that you’ll be dining alongside the Mongolians this evening. Please check your swords at the counter, next to the Apache tomahawks and Spartan spears.
This parking space has a reserved holder though, sir. I’m not sure if you can read, but if so, you’ll see that this area has already been designated for the Barbarians.
Friday Fictioneers is here again! All thoughts to be encapsulated in a 100-word story.
I’m going to take a break from poetry on this one today in order to dedicate my short story to my sister, who messaged me on Facebook this week with the words, “Hail Ragnar!”
(Let the story be your clue, in case you got so mesmerized by the vehicle that you didn’t notice the first name on the sign next to it.) If Ragnar Lodbrok wanted that parking space, Attila the Hun would surely have his hands full keeping it! 🙂