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...
And don’t get all pissy if they laugh at you. Why should I take it personally? I didn’t pick this costume, so they’ll be laughing at you, not me. A faint ghost of his old grin surfaces, but disappears...
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.
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...
I don’t know anything for certain. You and I could both explode in the next two seconds. Or the swimming pool over there could have a clone of the Loch Ness monster swimmin’ about on the bottom, ready...