stories

“See Musician? I told you I’d send for you.

“Just had to find the right pose.”

“Let’s find another one,” he demanded.

—–

“Not as good, Wheeler Wilson.”

“Shmursguug.”

—–

“I don’t understand what we’re doing here, Wheeler.”

“Shut up and get off my back you heavy lug.”

—–

“Another one with the back, Musician.”

“I think you’re suppose to be the man here, Wheeler.”

“Typical. And you’re getting your pink punk hair in my eye again.”

“A couple more still,” he requests.

—–

“It’s the owl’s head ring, Musician, hehe. Go ahead. You know you wanna.”

“Oh Jesus me,” he croons playfully while still clasping hand to mouth.

—–

“Psst. Don’t look now, Musician,” Wheeler whispered. “But that little red man is back again, ha.”

—–

“I’m pregnant, Wheeler Wilson. And this man who’s been following us around is our future son Sammy.”

“Makes sense.”

But then Jimmy breaks the spell. “Hi. I was wondering if you knew where the bathrooms are around here.”

—–

“I kind of miss Jimmy since he left, Wheeler.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s go find him and invite him to lunch with us.”

“Great idea!”

—–

“This is my favorite one of all.”

“Look, Musician, there’s Jimmy. Over here Jimmy!”

—–

“Trade with me, punk. I want to get to know Jimmy better.”

—–

“Service around here is awful, eh Jimmy?”

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Filed under *Second Life, Comfrey, Gaeta V, Uncategorized

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