Friday, May 19, 2017


From today --

Ned's mouth opened and shut.  His legs went out from under him.  He sat.  Looked at his trembling arms.  They looked like he'd been through the self-serve line at the barbecue house, remnants of self-control chip, chip, chipping away.  Next time he'd forgo the plate.  Using hands.  Nothing but mouth next time.  Right now, on the grass, Ned squeaked.  Ned bled.  

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