“I can’t believe that worked! I CAN’T be-lieve that WORKED!! Ahh hahahahahahaha!!! Trapped in the STONE he is, back at that cursed woodwinded place. My replacement HO! Suck-aaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” Roger Pine Ridge does a little jig on the spot, then approaches the big painted rock, lights a fag located conveniently (along with a lighter) in his pants pocket, draws deep, and then blows the a prolonged stream of smoke right in HER face. The cursed astronaut who set all this in motion in the first place. “WHIT-SOOOON,” he spat out, satisfied to no end with the tobacco and the revenge.
Sounds behind him. He turns.
“MARTY!!! Where you been???” He was holding a woodwind thus still Paul, still dead. TBC?
Sunklands 