Spitball Army

“In Spring a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love.”

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His desk, pressed against the glass: tree view, steady heat. A snow scene hangs beside it, drifts dabbed with a bottle of Wite-Out.

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The coming storm whips a plastic bag past me, dancing. “Seen that movie?” I ask her. “Yeah, American Pie!” My inner Ebert cringes.

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They rush with the wind, for cover. “It never rains here,” I divine, pointing out the cloudbank. It drives NNE and leaves us dry.

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He could shield his garden from heat or cold, but mercurial humans pummeled him unmercifully. So he spent more time pulling weeds. – Written by @Ralphley.

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This will just be a short note to let you know that I’m O.K.

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I got the box with the canned goods yesterday. Boy — that pineapple sure was good. Didn’t last long though.

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Think nothing of it if there are any blotches on the letter. I’ve been lucky so far; but the way the sweat is dripping off my forehead, I don’t think my luck will last.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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