Apr 16 2007


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Brigid wished for what was probably the thousandth time that she’d brought some gloves; the black mud in this section of the impound yard was so slippery that it would be a great comfort to just be able to grab something solid to hold onto. But she was reluctant to touch anything, and the more twisted rusty metal and broken glass she saw, the more reluctant she got. “What are we doing here?” she muttered to herself. “I’m going to kill that guy.”

This happy line of thought was interrupted by the rapid-fire crunch-crunch-crunch of somebody running on gravel. Brigid turned towards it just in time to see Greg come around a corner at top speed into the relatively bright area of the driveway illuminated by streetlights. “What the hell?” she managed to fire at him as he got closer.

“Après moi, le déluge!” Greg shouted as he ran past, not even turning to look at her. She would have stopped him to inquire just what he meant by that crack, when the night air was split by the ferocious hostile barking of what sounded like an army of dogs. It was at this stage she decided that the better part of valor was to get the hell out of Dodge.

-The Gneech

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