We he awoke, Marsha “Pink” Krakow was no longer floating with him, having been replaced by Dogg. The dissonant chords of a distant electric guitar roused him. Then shortly joining in with the deranged strumming: drums. Marsha had found a new partner of sorts.
He checked his phone messages. “Be back when we’re finished practicing.” Then skip several lines: “I have a new band!” Well great, he thinks. A rival for her attention for certain now.
“Realous?” said the great dane behind him, reading over his shoulder.
“You bet!”
“Ret’s take a ralk and talk.”
Sunklands 