Ships of Sticks (Drabble For Dylan) (Rip Our Friendship)

Hola, McCartney. Me llamo McCartney...

Early one morning, the sun was shining, and Paul was laying in bed. He had suggested last night for everyone to get to the studio early that morning, but regretted it now he was awake 7 hours later.
Sitting up, he stretched, and made his bed, then went to brush his teeth. Looking up to the mirror after cleaning his teeth, he noticed a beautiful sight.
"Why, ello, lovely," he said to his reflection in the mirror. When the reflection smile back at him, he lost his breath. He reached out, touching the mirror, wishing there was another man alive like him.
Paul went through this each morning, aching for his own reflection. He loved himself so much, he bought a compact mirror, and carried it everywhere, just so he could stare at the sight of his own face.
Pulling his pants on, and fitting the belt, he left his house and headed to the  studio. As he walked down the street, he heard a noise coming up behind him, like wheels. He didn't have enough time to move, when a skateboarder pushed him out of the way. Falling forward, Paul's mirror fell out of his pocket and smashed into the pavement.
Panicking, he grabbed the compact, but the glass had already been broken, distorting his face into many shapes of broken glass. Paul started to cry, and was pouting the whole day in the studio; he didn't even want to work on Maxwell's Silver Hammer he was so upset. This went on for a week, and he mourned for the loss of his portable beauty.
Then one day, as Paul was crossing Abbey Road, he noticed a lone figure, with a dark bob of hair. Her features looked just like his, from the long eyelashes, to the small nose, and the ever curious case of irises that might be brown, or might be green.
She looked at him, and he could see, that she was the woman he'd been waiting to meet. She introduced herself as Paula MacCharmly, and he Paul McCartney. They soon fell in love and had an ugly blonde son.
The end.