Sammy Whatammy went home after work and just sat here usually. She never saw sister Tammy. Nammy and Pammy never called — it’s like they didn’t exist. Only Crayola and herself, waiting for this mysterious boss to show up.
“How long was it last week? 3 weeks?”
“Welllllll,” replied Crayola, stretching out words with her large red mouth like she’s wont to do. “Tiiiimme does work difffereeentllly upp therrrrre.”
Looking down at her still normalized shoes, the only bit that remained, she remembered why she never saw Tammy: Witchery.
“Yooouurr cryiinnng. Wouldd youu like anotther sheeetttt?”
—–
Two weeks and 36 bar shifts later, the boss shows up, golf club in hand. This was his club, and Sammy and Crayola were his slaves servants.
“Hey!” he harshly cried through the underwater window. “Wake up in there and open the door!”
Sunklands 