“Why yes I’ll accept your goblet of wine almost naked and equally tall Colossus before me, ha ha ha.”
Shelley Johnston Struthers wakes up drooped over her laptop, realizes she’s got to finish the current photo-novel before August 31st or overdue. Hiding the tempting body evilly illuminated by the black hole sun behind her, she gets back to it.
—–
“It’s YOUR fault, you know. The death of Susan here. You killed her!”
“No, YOU killed her!”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
—–
Oops. 7 o’clock already. Time for Newt to watch TV with Wheeler. Better say my goodbyes and head out. Maybe for the last time, PHEH.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 