My Dad Was A Presbyterian

She Bestowed The Blessing Of A Wild Girl's Lips.

I Changed My Mind. I Don’t Want To Be An Inveshtigative Journalist Anymore. I Want To Be A Professional Rum Drinker.” “there Are People Who Do That,” Duff Said. He’d Barely Sipped His Rum. “really? What Do You Call Them?” “alcoholics.

Evie Was So Nervous That She Downed Her Cocktail In Two Stiff Swigs, Then Refilled Her Glass. Henry Arched An Eyebrow. “a Pro, I See.” “what Else Is There To Do In Ohio?

Hot Off The Presses, Today’s Headlines: The Love Of Your Life Does Not Approve Of My Wanton Flapper Ways,” Evie Said In A Voice Of Affected Mystery. “really, Mabesie. You Might Want To Reconsider—he Is A Bit Of A Killjoy.

Theta Crashed Next To Them On The Thick Zebra-skin Rug. “i’m Embalmed.” “potted And Splificated?” “ossified To The Gills. Time For Night-night.