Duncan sometimes sits down there staring at those tulips well into the evening. He’s looking for something that isn’t there. *I* can’t even see the tulips at least from this angle, thinks George here, stomach rumbling from lack of food. 1/2 past six. Looks like spaghetti-o’s again. He moves to the kitchen to prepare the water.
—–
Couple more well placed toy avatars and we’re outta here, he contemplates while still staring deeply, gazing even. He pulls out a fish taco from his sweater he brought for a snack, but before he could take the first bite he remembered the boy.
“George,” he exclaimed. “*Dinner*”. He throws the fish taco in the tulips for the rats and heads home, going over apology after apology in his head. But George was use to it.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 