Creative Copy Challenge #88

Today’s words come to us from Sonia Simone of Remarkable Communication and Copyblogger fame. Show her some comment love.

BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)

  1. Chili cheese fries
  2. Coax
  3. Cuban cigar
  4. Drainpipe
  5. Feather boa – a long thin fluffy scarf of feathers or fur
  6. Glee
  7. Karma
  8. Motorcycle
  9. Nursing bra
  10. Opossum

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

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Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there

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92 Comments on “Creative Copy Challenge #88”

  1. Shane Arthur says:

    What’s more difficult…

    Convincing an Opossum it’s bad Karma to bite you in the ass after you chased it with a stick, slipped and slide off the deck, and landed on his head?

    Attempting a game of Charades with scenes from the sitcom Glee in front of your burly motorcycle-riding buddies?

    Snaking a feather boa out of your drainpipe (or wondering if readers noticed the faulty, yet creative, snaking reference in the sentence)?

    Coaxing a double order of chili cheese fries into bypassing your acid reflux and hemorrhoids?

    Finding a Cuban man smoking a real Cuban cigar… on a lawnchair… under an attractive satellite dish… in West Virginia?

    Or, convincing your wife that, yes, a nursing bra is sexy and in no way should it hinder a man’s attempt at removing it with his teeth?

    • Patsi Sota says:

      Tough question Shane. (I did notice the snaking) clever boy. Must be the Opossum-karma, that is most difficult. If wife is pregnant you proved your convincing techniques already. I wanna see you charade Glee in front of your motorcycle buddies. Now that’s entertainment. Oh and wear that feather boa!

      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Patsi: You know, the Opossum incident really happened. If you want to turn a split second into an fright filled eternity, have an oppossum under your ass as you scramble to get back to your feet. Yikes.

        • Patsi Sota says:

          Well Shane, it actually sounds funny now. Of course I wasn’t the one going to lose a chunk of butt, not that I can’t afford to. Where is this Opossum? I just thought of a new weight loss idea. ; )

    • margaret says:

      Shane, did you know that possums are really quite mellow, live and let live creatures?  They eat the cat food from my yard all the time, and there has been a little one who hides in my garage workshop and peeks his head out to greet me.  I also knew somebody who had one that was litter box trained and would give her kisses on command!

      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Oh my! Yeah, I’ve given up my crusade against them. It wasn’t really the Opossums I didn’t like. I hated how the oppssums and the skunks would fight for the space under my deck. The skunks would spray the opossums and the stink would come into the house making the 1st floor unbareable. This went on for weeks. I was so fed up, I chaced anything away that wasn’t our cats. 🙂 Both seemed to call it a draw and look for shelter elsewhere, though, so all if well now.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Shane-I can see your dilemma. Let us know when you figure it out. 🙂

  2. Patsi Sota says:

    One time at band camp we all road motorcycles down to the counselors cabins. I was wearing a feather boa and boxer shorts. Fred wore a nursing bra on his head, which made him look like a wolf because his hair stuck up through it like furry ears.

    Then Charles brought a box of cuban cigars and well you know how fun those can be. I played the part of Amy. We coaxed Stephanie into going skinny dipping with us, even though she was scared of water. Karma will come back to bite me in the rump.

    We also got to take a short road trip to see the characters from Glee. They sing pretty good but with us playing we stole the show.

    Another time at band camp we found an oppossum stuck in a drain pipe, poor thing. I played a Benny Goodman song to it until it died. Wait, maybe it was just playing possum, hmm.

    Another time at band camp we were all sitting by the fire telling ghost stories and smoking pot. We decided we wanted chilli cheese fries, we had the munchies. Then George tried to put his fries on the end of a stick, like marshmallows, but it all fell into the fire. What a dork. We all laughed at that one, we still are.

    Another time at band camp we….

  3. Mandy says:

    Karma. That’s the only way I can explain the reason that I was left behind with a hangover, a plate of cold chili cheese fries, and a stuffed opossum. I took stock of the room. A short stub of a Cuban cigar lay abandoned in the ashtray. His.  Broken bottles. A receipt from the boardwalk arcade (that explains the opossum).  And what….a feather boa?

    I checked the bathroom for my sister, who I knew needed to be getting back to her baby. Nope. Not there. Just her nursing bra hanging off the drainpipe. Wow. Really must have been insane last night. Now if only I could coax my memory back into functioning.

    Was it really that wild of a night? I mean, I knew it all started with an episode of  Glee. Then he showed up on his motorcycle. Ouch. OK. I think that’s enough remembering for one day.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mandy: That was awesome! Fantastic scene you created in my mind. Welcome to the CCC. ‘Tis the best addiction you’ll ever have. Hope you do more of them. I’ll add your name and URL to our CCC Community Links page next. Everyone welcome Mandy aboard.

      • Mandy says:

        Wowzers! Thank you!!!! 🙂 Hi everyone!

      • Patsi Sota says:

        Mandy, Welcome. This place is great as well as all the writers! I’ve had episodes like that minus the nursing bra.

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Mandy-Welcome to CCC!

        You will fall in love with this place. It’s better than chili cheese fries with no calories. We know we won’t have to coax you to return because once you’re here, you’re hooked. It’s so much fun you’ll swear it’s as illegal as a Cuban cigar.

        So hook up your laptop to the drainpipe of creativity and let the words flow. Bring out the feather boa of fun you locked away and know the glee of writing without inhibitions. There’s nothing but good karma at CCC and we have it all. From motorcycle mamas who are nursing bras for future destruction to victims playing opossum from the killers lurking about, colorful characters are the order of the day.

        We’re glad you’ve come to add to the fun. Welcome to CCC!

    • margaret says:

      Welcome, Mandy…fun submission.

  4. margaret says:

    This was a really interesting  interview to get for Fortune Magazine. I went to the home of  Mr. and Mrs. Westley Rutherford, a prominent couple living in a mansion in the affluent  Hamptons community.

    As I pulled up to their stately home on my shiny, red Harley motorcycle, I was greeted by the sight of Westley himself, sitting on the porch simultaneously eating chili cheese fries and puffing on a huge Cuban cigar. He was quite happy to see me , though the Mrs. seemed quite shy and hesitant to come out.  I had to coax  her with an overly ripe persimmon  which I held out in my hand. She came out slowly, enveloped in a fluffy pink feathered boa, shyly fluttering her eyelashes and snatching the persimmon.

    Their many children played and danced to the strains of Boy George’s Karma Chameleon, as one little one slid down the drainpipe with glee.  This was quite a Norman Rockwell moment, except that rather than Mr. and Mrs. American Family Next Door, this was an opossum family, that had managed to make it into the Fortune 500.

    I needed to know just how they were able to achieve such financial success. Mrs. Westley Rutherford, it seems, after many pregnancies, had decided that  it was time and came up with a great invention which she immediately patented.

    Playtex snatched up her idea for a multi-cupped nursing bra, and rewarded her very richly for her ingenuity. You won’t ever accuse this clever lady of sleeping on the job or
    “playing possum”.

  5. margaret says:

    Uh, Shane, THEY WERE POSSUMS!!!! living in a mansion in the HAMPTONS!!  LOL….strictly fiction, but I’m gladyou enjoyed the fantasy. 🙂

  6. Sonia Simone says:

    Ha ha, love these!
    I’d play but I’m on the world’s most hideous deadline. Pity me. 🙂

  7. Clarabela says:

    The opening of the State Fair of Texas is always met with glee. The anticipation  of greasy Chili cheese fries, eating the latest fried concoction  (I think this year’s delicacy is deep fried opossum legs) and the Boy George & Culture Club cover band “Karma Khameleon” thrills me. You won’t have to coax me to hop on the back of a motorcycle and hurry down to the fair grounds.
     
    The State Fair is a great place for people watching. I love to sit in front of Big Tex  and watch the weirdos go by. An enormous women wearing hot pants,  a nursing bra as a halter top and a feather boa; a 90-year old grandmother smoking a Cuban cigar. Last year a teenage girl in 6-inch stilettos tripped over a drainpipe and spilled cotton candy and turkey leg everyone. I love The Fair!

  8. A. Hamilton says:

    At first I though Karma was a Cuban cigar, then I found out Karma was the lead singer  in a all-female group called, “El Chile Queso Freir” (Translated – Saint Xavier Glee Club) Just kidding, it’s really, “The Chili Cheese Fries”, a well known, all female, Spanish rap group in Havana Cuba, well know for their skimpy outfits of green, red and yellow feather boas.

    One evening I tried to coax Karma into riding home with me on my motorcycle, with it‘s loud, drainpipe exhaust. She said that she was on her cycle, but she would ride along with me anyway. Everyone in Cuba has a cycle of sorts.

    To my surprise, she flung her leg and feather boa over my opossum fur covered seat and said, “Let’s go.”

    “But I thought you said you had your own cycle”, I quizzed.

    “Lets just go before I ruin you seat”, she whispered.

    Then the word, “Cycle” hit me. I felt flush and red all over and wished I’d stayed under my mama’s nursing bra cup until tomorrow.

  9. Patsi Sota says:

    A., Great outfits & band name. I have a cycle story that has to do w/Karma also. But at the time I needed a little ego deflate.

  10. Kelly says:

    CANCEL MY 2 O’CLOCK

    Ay-yi, I wrenched my ankle something fierce on Wednesday. The rain was coming down hard over the strip mall’s parking lot, and me in my teeny-tiny heels, I had to have a craving for chili cheese fries that just couldn’t wait ‘til after my 2 o’clock meeting. So I drove out of my way to Jerry’s Dogs’n’Fries, stepped from the car onto the slippery pavement, and raced gleefully across the lot, passing the grocery store and the dry cleaner’s, when one little rock washed out of the corner drainpipe onto the smooth tar wiggled my right heel and took me down with a breathless scream.

    A guy on a motorcycle swerved to avoid hitting me, crumpled limply on the ground like a feather boa after a striptease, with barely a glance back at the obstacle he’d narrowly missed.

    In the moment before the pain really hits, I noticed that the rain had decided to show us what “coming down hard” could really mean. Maybe best that the dude on the bike didn’t take his eyes off the driving.

    Fifteen seconds? A lifetime on that pavement? My white silk blouse had turned into a peep show of its own, and what it was showing was that my old nursing bra was the only clean thing I had that morning when I dressed for work. “Discreet” flaps looked like breast bulls-eyes. Let this be a lesson—bad laundry karma strikes when you least expect it.

    A cart-collecting grocery store employee rattled by me as if sodden ladies littered his path every day. Not a word.

    I wanted to say, “C’mon, help me up, will you?” but all that came out was a horrid little whimper.

    Though it had been more than a minute now, from my bizarre fallen position I couldn’t coax that ankle to hold my weight. The stub of a Cuban cigar waded in a growing puddle a few feet away, and I tried to focus on its languid movements instead of on my misery. I gripped my ankle with all my might, watched a few stars swim before my eyes, and tried to squeeze the pain away as a minivan splashed past right through my focus-puddle.

    How can it be that no one stops to give me a hand? I was beginning to like the self-pity, but unless I wanted to go from playing ‘possum to being a dead opossum in a strip mall parking lot, I had to get out of their path.

    With one last squeeze and a deep breath, I put my teeny-tiny heel down firmly in front of me, rescued my left leg from where it had twisted under my skirt, and prepared to roar as I stood.

    Halfway to standing, feeling your hands rush to grab my waist—and help me keep the weight off as I hobbled back to the car—was better than any cheese fries could ever have been.

    Thank goodness you turned your motorcycle around.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Ohhhh, You have a 2 O’Clock meeting still! It’s just a different type of communication! 😉

      • Kelly says:

        Shane–Heh, heh… my thoughts exactly. Well, it’s a 40% true story, but unfortunately being rescued is not part of the 40% that was true. Just seemed a nicer ending than going back to the car cursing all the folks who couldn’t be bothered, tears of pain streaming down soaking wet face, etc. I’m a romantic at heart so I forgave ’em all and made a happy-ish ending.

        Sadly the new 2 o’clock was with a bag of ice… and the 2 o’clock the next day… and the way it’s hurting, probably today as well… ow.

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Kelly: Speaking of shoes. Some two years ago I believe it was I ran into you online. Your gravatar of those shoes instantly set you apart from everyone else in my mind. It reminded me of the old pictures of the sock hops of the 50s. Funny how a picture can give someone a “leg” up in others’ minds.

          • Kelly says:

            Shane–You would not believe how many people tell me they remember me with a smile b/c of my self-portrait a-la-shoes. I guess it’s working like a “signature,” just as we want gravatars to, but you have to like being locked into your signature!

            And you, of course, I’ve always thought of as a caring, involved Daddy b/c of your gravatar. That’s a nice thing to be locked into.   🙂

          • Shane Arthur says:

            @Kelly: Indeed. I’ve thought of updating mine, but no other picture quite captures the moment that that picture does. It was such a good day. We were so happy.

          • A. Hamilton says:

            Kelly; I was there that day you fell. Not really, but your writing made me feel like I was. Nice

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Kelly–love this line – crumpled limply on the ground like a feather boa after a striptease – excellent!

  11. “What the fuck are chili cheese fries?” James took a slow, casual drag off his Cuban cigar as he crossed his legs and threw the end of his pink feather boa over his shoulder. “Some kind of poutine? I’d rather suck on a drainpipe, frankly.”

    “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Sonia smiled benevolently, high as a kite on the pot they’d been smoking before breaking out the stogies.

    “You know, that’s funny,” James blinked at her gravely with slow red eyes. “You should hop on a motorcycle wearing a nursing bra on your head and scream that as you burn down the street.”

    “Ooooh…” Sonia’s own reddened eyes widened. “And swing an opossum around my head. That would be so cool, James. It’s like karma, man. Where do you come up with these ideas?”

    “My brains. They’re full of ’em. And glee. Lots of glee in there too,” he nodded soberly, feeling like time had slowed down to a crawl. “We should smoke up more often if we get ideas like that. Hey, you think we can coax Brian to ride along?”

    “Nah.” Sonia dragged on her own cigar. “He’s too lame. But he can come break us out of jail… Let me text him now.”

    “Tell him to bring tequila,” James added, leaning back and closing his eyes. “And that Dunford chick. And cash.”

    Sonia snorted. “You want cocaine and hookers with your order?”

    And James grinned. “Yeah. And make it to go.”

  12. [Shane – I thought you were going to gush over Sonia like you did James? Now I’m disappointed, and can only imagine what transpired.]

    “Sonia, dear Sonia,” Shane said, “I apologize. I wanted to drool over your chili cheese fries. I wanted to coax a reaction of glee; instead the readers rose up and teased me. I wanted to tickle you with words like a feather boa, instead I wrote about Cuban cigars and colons spasticola.”

    Sonia smiled, an itty byzantine thing, and all she remarked was “@#$%ing insane!”

    “Let’s pack ten words and flee on my motorcycle,” Shane gushed. “Let’s put up old posts and watch them recycle. Let’s nestle together, snug as a nursing bra. Let’s escape down the drainpipe and flee to Africa. My karma‘s not opposed to a little brown nose, but the readers rose up and my fawning did oppose.”

    “When did you find caution?” she asked, bemused.

    “On Monday at 87,” Shane said, still confused. “I wanted to woo, to shine, to blossom. But the readers are watching, so instead I played opossum.”

  13. […] Of course, great prep for the weekend and a bit of re-creation is the Creative Copy Challenge – Challenge 88! […]

  14. Cathy Miller says:

    An army of chili cheese fries goose-stepped their way across 5th Avenue in an effort to coax others to join. A Cuban cigar boldly took the lead, while a rusted drainpipe took the rear, a shocking pink feather boa clinging to flakes of rust.

    Children clapped in glee and the strange parade held a mystic karma. A motorcycle brigade of Hell’s Angels with flapping nursing bras roared to life with a be-goggled opossum perched on the handlebars of the one giant HOG.

    My eyes popped open, and I rolled over, muttering, “I’ve got to give up the Mexican food.”

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Cathy: It sounds like you and James were having the same dream ride sequence. 🙂 Wonderful read. You’re a damn good writer, Cathy.

      • KathleenL says:

        Cathy — Oh… oh I think I had that supper too. But it could be the tequila — thanks for the great visual. ( oh yah, and the laugh, I needed that! )

  15. Avenged in Blood part 45
     There was actually glee in her eyes in the aftermath of karma. They had sent 3 men to her place thinking that they could overcome her for failing to kill me. They didn’t count on me.
    It was all over in a moment, 2 shots from me, one from her, 3 bodies. I was checking pockets for cash or keys when another shot rang out behind me. I rolled and spun with my pistol appearing in my hand. I came within nanoseconds of shooting Lola.
    Apparently, one of the thugs had been playing possum, and she was ready. What a woman, could I trust her? The bed session had been stress, could it last? Could I have another partner after Jack?
    She was confident now. “We could just stay here, now that they think they got us.” She said. “How long do you think it will be before these guys are missed and they send someone to check it out?” I asked. She was trying to think up a reply when one of the men’s pockets began to ring. And then another vibrated. Our time was up.
    I had to coax her back to her suitcase and get her the hell out of that apartment. It was about to get even hotter in here. I thought I could hear a siren far off in the distance.
    I stopped long enough to search the last guy as we were leaving. Keys, a cell phone and a Cuban cigar were the only things in his pockets. These turkey’s didn’t even have the decency to shoot .45’s so I could restock my ammunition. I kicked the last thug before I turned and left the apartment.
    “How about some chili cheese fries?” she asked. Strange how her brain worked but I said “OK. Do you have a car? I noticed mine was kind of shot up.” “Sorry about that.” She said. “I couldn’t have you getting away.” She flashed me a small smile that made the loss of my battered Camaro not such a bad thing. “My car is over there.” She pointed to a pile of shattered glass and chrome on the pavement. More explicative’s came over the stolen car.
    I did still have the keys in my hand, taken from a dead assassin. What would he be driving? I looked around and the only thing that I could see was a crappy assed motorcycle leaning against the drainpipe of her apartment building.
    The key fit the ignition and I shook my head. “We have to lose most of your stuff there.” I said. She nodded seeing the logic. Her gun, ammunition, knife and some other small things went into a knapsack that she was wearing. I was very confused when the discard pile grew by an feather boa and a nursing bra.

  16. Jenna Avery says:

    As I unhooked my nursing bra to coax my son into having some milk to calm both him and me down, I laughed with a bitter glee over the revenge I’d taken in response to my horrifically clogged drainpipe. My husband’s motorcycle buddies had overloaded the garbage disposal with their Cuban cigar butts and leftover chili cheese fries, leaving an unholy mess for me this morning.
    But it would come around to haunt them — I’d taken their karma into my own hands and left a rotting opossum carcass dressed up with a feather boa in the middle of their club room.
    That’ll show them!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jenna: Haha. That was an awesome 1st Submission. Love your style (and your spunk with that submission.).
      Everyone welcome Jenna to the addiction. I’ll add your name and URL to the CCC Community Links page now.

  17. Cathy Miller says:

    Okay-no promises about this making any sense-I just got back from my dentist because I broke my tooth right off at the root & he had a heck of a time extracting the rest of it. Now I have a gaping hole in the front of my mouth-pain killers-and have to wait until Tuesday for my temporary before getting a bridge in 4 months. Good thing I work from home. Where was this look on Halloween?

    Enough whining—
    ========================
    @Jenna-Welcome to CCC!

    Even though I could slide chili cheese fries through the hole in my mouth, Shane doesn’t need to coax me into welcoming you to CCC. So, here’s a virtual Cuban cigar of welcome to your own personal drainpipe for any self-doubt. Break out your party hat, throw on the feather boa and party along in glee with CCC.

    The creative karma is king as each week you motorcycle on over to try the challenging 10. More challenging than a mother’s discreet release of a nursing bra in public, you’ll never find this community playing opossum to meaningless platitudes.

    Welcome!
     

  18. KathleenL says:

    She was quietly imbibing on a stein of near room temperature amber hops when he walked in. He paused, quickly surveying the limited crowd of three. That is when he saw her. She sat eating her order of chili cheese fries … alone.

    She could see — out of the corner of her eye — that this seemed to be a problem for him or an sign of encouragement (at that moment she was not sure), as the other two patrons sat on the opposite side of the horseshoe engrossed in conversation. Her solitary existence must have been a problem he just knew, no doubt, that he could solve – according to the glint in his eye. Sure enough, he deluded himself into believing that he was man enough to coax some conversation, or more, out of his new lonely target.

    He began swaggering, slightly staggering toward her like she had a feather boa draped around her throat with the entrails runnin’ down her back like it was a com-hither neon sign. Untrue. So untrue.

    The Cuban cigar bobbed as he spoke, “Barkeep … scotch … neat and one of these for her,” he said pointing at the auburn haired lady’s glass.

    What does he think he is doing? Does he think I am warin’ a nursing bra and need someone suckling to make me happy? What’s with guys thinkin’ a lady can’t be happy sittin’ by and spending time by herself?
    She said to herself as she ate a fry.

    The bartender looked at her for approval. The light frown and the roll of her green eyes were clear enough …. The bartender reached for the short glass with her left hand and the house scotch with her right. She set the glass on the bar top upending the scotch bottle for a count of four, giving him two-fingers of scotch without ice. She returned the bottle to the shelf before turning toward the customer.

    “So… are you stickin’ around long enough to have another one?” she said before wasting one of her semi-regular client’s time.

    “No. No I’m not. But thanks anyways,” she said finishing the statement in his general direction.

    “Two-seventy-five,” the bartender said as she set down the drink.
     
    “You sure? You don’t look like you are done with the fires. You might need summore to wash it all down with.”

    “No thanks, I’m sure. I’m drivin’,” she said not turning her head.

    He opened up his mouth exposing his drainpipe, causing the stogy to flop out of his mouth. When it bounced on the oak the ember end landed on the back of his hand.

    “Ouch,” he exclaimed as he pulled his hand back before picking the burning culprit up before it scared the bar top.

    Karma,” both of the ladies mouthed at the same time, but leaving their reactions still and motionless akin to an opossum scared by a dog, laying out flat on its side, playin’ dead and all.

    The auburn haired gal took the last sip of her beer and pushed the unfinished plate of fries forward a bit before she reached down to her waist band and retrieved her riding gloves.

    As she slid the fingers of her right into the fingerless leather gloves he began to speak, again, “Oh… you leavin’?”

    “Uh  hu,” she said dressing her left hand.

    It was then he noticed her lower half was adorned in black leather. A new gleefulness filled his eyes as it did with many an ignorant man when they envisioned a gal on the back of a motorcycle.

    “You ridin’ your fella’s motorcycle today?” he would have been better off just doolin’, but no he had to go and open that whole and allow his ignorance to spill out for everyone in the place to hear.

    She took a deep breath as she stood. Looking up she could not help but notice the entertainingly concerned look in the bartender’s eyes. As she fingered for the key in her vest pocket she chose her words. Then turning toward the fool she paused momentarily.

    “No sir, that blue little number out front,” without taking her eyes off of the dupe, she indicated the custom lowered 883 Harley Davidson easily viable through the large pane window, “is not my mmmaaannn’s bike,” sarcasm and disdain dripped off each word. “I pushed my husband off the front of this bike years ago. Now he has his own again. And this lady… she don’t ride bitch for no body,” she finished speaking with an air and a flare of a woman not to be trifled with. She lifted her chin to the bartender, smiling a bit as she turned and headed out of the place.

    She causally threw a leg over the steel horse setting herself easily in the well of her seat, knowing she was being watched did not change her actions a bit. Effortlessly she inserted the key, turned it, and lifted her hand to the on switch, waited until the fuel pump stopped whinning… depressed the start button and rolled the throttle toward her. She shifted her weight bringing the Sportster up off of its kickstand. With all of the weight balanced to the right she lifted her left foot healing the kickstand up to its resting position. Looking left, then right … seeing it all clear she pressed the right turn signal switch, checked one more time and then headed off, leaving that ill fated fool still longing for … what he couldn’t have.


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