“I’m scrapping the whole idea!” raged Biff Carter one night after a particularly bad rehearsal for the band. “I’m going to call us — heck — *Runnynose*. Because that’s what we are. A constant drip drip drip of annoyance threatening to dribble down my cheeks if I don’t stop it, PHEH. Where’s my hanky? I want to blow it all away!” He rubs his hand across his face and then picks up the loaded gun on the table beside him but then puts it back. No need to go down that road, he, thankfully, quickly realized. No more mowing down needed. Let tall grass stand. Weedy. Jennifer not Jenny. She lives! At least in his mind, in his dreams. He can also live with that for a while.
“Here,” consoling Shelley said from the side, replacing him in that role. “Take a hit from my white ass stick instead to cool you down.” And she leans over and kisses his cheek while handing it to him, a promise of things to come. At least for Biff. TBC
