Betty Danger flipped the switch on the intercom and told Craven Danger a joke. Craven Danger took a long sip of his coffee, and put the fly swatter down.
Rupert felt sleepy behind the wheel of his ‘65 Chevy as he waited for the old car to warm up. So he rolled down the window to let in some of that snowy fresh air.
On December 17, 2013, I will be sixty years of age. I find it hard to write autobiographical stories. So I don’t do it. And I won’t do it now. I’ll make something up.