Mom says I should erase it. That this present is our reality and everything on this little drive is fiction. She may be right. But there’s plenty of truth in fiction.
Kiernan leans forward. I’m guessing that’s because you make it work, Mr. Houdini. Maybe that’s how you manage . . . He pauses when my kick lands on his shin, but finishes the sentence anyway. . . . s...
I toss the formal dress from 1905 onto the chair next to him. He glances up, removing the headphones. Did you decide to do a bit of shopping in London? I give him a wry smile. Does this look like some...
He pushes his chair back and goes to the kitchen. Are you hungry? Yes. I’m thinking Kentucky Fried Rooster. There’s another chorus of cock-a-doodle-doo just as I finish speaking, and he laughs. Henry’...
The manager rolls his eyes. Sorry, miss, already picked my dozen— So make it a baker’s dozen, someone yells from the back. Bet she can’t hit the bloody nail anyway. Give us somethin’ to laugh at. That...