'Those men rape cattle, Marshall! They rape em' with their phallices! That's why you're here!' he screamed, pushing his mouldy old form up against me as I tried to push back through the saloon doors.
'You maniac, I'm not putting my penis anywhere near a steer!' I shouted back, simply unwilling you understand.
'No you fool, you have to stop them! They have to be stopped!'

We were in the street now, locked in a kinda tussle. His eyes were wild like one of those movie film projectors I'd seen back in New York City. I wouldn't stay though, to do so would be madness, and this was not a situation that called for the intervention of a US Marshall.

Especially not I, US Marsh Si...

Fuck, he grabbed my gun the crazy old bastard.

'That's a federal offence, citizen!' I bellowed, trying to talk some sense into the smelly dickhead.
'Marshall, I am a God fearing man!'
'I don't care!'
'If you won't intervene in these here matters of urgency, then personally, I don't want to live anymore! D'ya hear me!? I'd rather be dead!' he cried, his eyes moist with emotion droplets.

You have two guns, man. Take the other one out and shoot that gun out of his hand. Would that work? No, of course not. He's holding the barrel of my six shooter to the underside of his jaw, if I tried to shoot it out of his hands, I'd almost certainly blow the old fuckwad away.

Quick draw that sonofabitch!

'Marshall, you dunno what it's like out here, with them... cattle fuckers up there on the hill... I'm beggin' ya to do us a solid here in Brownstool, Arizona. Population 41, and end their reign of terror...' he whimpered like a kid who'd just been told to stop fiddling with his wanger, and damned if I didn't feel something twig inside me.

Could I concievably blast that shooter out of his hand without hurting him? He struck me as a good man though, a man of faith. And hell, so was I. With the good Lord's guidance, surely no harm would come to anybody here. Maybe we'd even find a way to solve this towns little problem.
'DRAW!!!' I screamed, for really no apparent reason considering I would be the only one doing the shooting.

I whipped my pistol from it's holster and just as soon as it left the leather, I squeezed the trigger hard. Old man Limery buckled over. I'd gone done shot him in the gut. That was a good two feet away from my intended target, and in actual fact, my second six shooter remained in his hand.

'Bleerrrrrrgg....' he seemed to say, dropping softly to his knees, gun still primed to steal his life away from him in his hands.

OK, damage control time Marshall. Obviously it would be considered uncool to ride into Brownstool and start blasting the citizenry. That's a given. That's money in the bank. He did steal my weapon however, and that's a no-no. Was I justified in clipping his wings like that? I'd say no, especially considering shooting a man directly in the stomach could in no way be construed as wing clipping. That's an arm, or at the most a shoulder shot. Don't panic though. He's still holding that gun like he means to take his own life. Let's turn it all around now.

'Ma..Ma...' Limery whimpers, drooling like a damned blood hound in sniffing distance of a T-Bone.
'Hold still man, you ain't punching your last ticket yet' I reassure him, readying my pistol for rapid fire bullet delivery. 'Let me just get that weapon away from you'.

I let the first round off which misses completely and puts a small hole in a window to the rear of Mr. Limery. A small, bullet sized hole that is. I won't let that discourage me however, as the second round is already gone. And so is Limery's right ear. Damned if I'm gonna call that a failure, still two shots to go and a man's life at stake. The third round goes straight through the top of Limery's head and exits through his... Oh Christ.

Oh fuck, the game is a bogey. The game's a fuckin' no good bogey now.

'What in the name of name of Washington's fuckin' ghost are you doing, man!?' the voice startles me, causing me to turn on the spot. 'Reach for the skies you murderin' piece o' shit!'
'Excuse me?' I respond, unable to comprehend exactly what is going on at this moment. Might as well buy myself some time with an ''Excuse me''.

And then I notice it, the shotgun being held by the man confronting me. And it's pointed directly at my noggin. I instinctly drop my gun, and raise my hands to the skies.

'You better answer the goddamned question now, boy, otherwise I will euphanize you directly!'
'I am US Marshall Simon Brewer... I was sent here by order of..'
'US Marshall!? Yeah I know why you were sent here, I'm the damned Sheriff of these here Brownstools!'
'Sheriff? Pleased to meet you' I say, stretching my arm out for that staple of the meet n' greet. A handshake.
'Keep your hands in the damned air, boy! What in the Sam Hill do you think you're doing out here!?' he demands, waving his boomstick right up in my grill.
'Well, I do believe I was sent for by your office, Sheriff' I reasoned. 'Sheriff Jacob Banks, yes?'
'That's me. When did you get here exactly?' he asked, his eyes like dark chocolate buttons under the prairie moon.
'Uh... about five minutes ago'.
'And on arrival, you took it upon yourself to pull old Limery here out into the middle of the street to be executed?' he asked, grit scrunching noisily between his gnashers.
'That's not entirely how things went down, Sheriff'
'Was Limery a wanted man!?'
'Not that I know of, no'.
'Then why's he dead, Marshall!?'
'We had something of a misunderstanding, back there in the Saloon'.
'A misunderstandin', y'say? And does the Federal Government of these here United States consider a ''misunderstanding'' a good enough reason to be shot down in the street like a dog!?' he bellows, sending grit particles careering for my fresh shaven face.
'I uh...'
'Come with me, Marshall, and you even so much as think about your gun, I will blow your face out the other side of your head, do you understand me?'
'Yes' I whimper, feeling more than a little like I might soil my briches.

Had to keep it together though, try and regain some authority around here.

The Sheriff lead me to the opposite side of the street where his office was. Funnily enough, there was a sign above the door that read 'Sheriff's Office'. It's probably exactly how you'd have imagined it to be. Cell there on the left as you walk through the door, desk on the right. Standard stuff. Standard.
'Get in there you piece of dog shit!' the Sheriff shouts, grabbing my arm and launching me into the open cell.

As I bounce rather comically off the bunk beds, I hear the cell door slam closed behind me. I attempt to compose myself, then turn to face the Sheriff and a man sitting at the desk who I assume to be his Deputy. The Sheriff still has his shotgun aimed at my head.

'Now you best get to tellin' me just what in the shit stained lunar surface happened here, Marshall!'

Shit stained lunar surface? What?

'I told you..'
'A misunderstanding?'
'Exactly, yeah'
'Marshall. I am a man of the law, so you best believe I respect the law. But you best also believe that I will paint the wall of that cell with your brain if you don't get to being a little more specific in your account of how Mr. Limery came to be a corpse tonight!'
'OK... OK. I'll tell you' I start, struggling to keep it all toge...
'You have T-Minus 2 seconds to start talking jack fuck!' the Sheriff's prompts me to start.
'Uh... it all started, um.. five minutes ago. I got here'
'In Brownstool?'
'Yes!' I respond, eager to keep on the Sheriff's good side.
'Continue!'
'I went to the Saloon to get an idea what kind of town this is'
'And maybe a light refreshment too?' the Sheriff's Deputy asks.
'Yes, I was admittedly thirsty'.
'That's excellent, the local economy has been floundering as of late. Warms my heart to hear of outsiders coming and enjoying local amenities. Shame you had to go and get thrown in jail though cause really.. that's a drain more than anything else'.
'Dylan... what has that got to the do with the murderin's of them there Limery's?' the Sheriff asks his Deputy, pointing his thumb at the still very much deceased Mr. Limery.
'Nah. Nuttin'. It's just, I'm also the book keeper over at city hall... and'
'And what Dylan? Tonight you are my Deputy. You keep your head on the business of law keeping. Understand?' the Sheriff asks, certainly displaying a damn sight more patience with his Deputy, than he has done with me since I... well, since I killed a guy in his town. 'Now, you best keep going Marshall, cause my finger here, has an awful itch'.
'So I was having my drink...'

The Deputy nods his head approvingly.

'...and Limery approached me and asked if I was... if I was..'
'If you was who, Marshall?' the Sheriff asks.
'The Marshall... uh, the Marshall that you sent for'.
'I sent for A Marshall, Marshall, I didn't send for YOU specifically!'
'Well you sent for one, and that one is me. And uh...'
'Limery' the Sheriff repeats.
'He told me about a local gang, or an outfit of some description, who were up there on White Rock... White...'
'White Rook Hill' the Sheriff said, seeming to calm his jets a little.
'Yeah, the very same'
'And what did he tell you about those men on White Rook Hill?' the Sheriff asks, lowering his weapon to his side.
'Well... it sounded a little preposterous, Sheriff'
'Have we forgotten about the itchiness of my finger?' he asks, wiggling his trigger finger, in a not at all threatening manner.
'He said they... had sex with animals.. uh.. cattle. Specifically'

The Sheriff nods softly, staring at me with a heated intensity.

'And then you pulled him out there, and murderised him?' the Sheriff asks, pointing out into the night. 'What are you, boy, some kind of cow fucker sympathiser!?' he asks, that fire rising within him again.
'What!? No! I'd never... I have no interest in the sexing of cows... or any animals other than human women! I...'
'Are you saying that humans are animals!?' the Sheriff bellows, pointing his gun once again at my face. 'You best shut your pie chute before I explode your head like a god damned cantaloupe!! I will not stand here and have some jumped up city boy come into MY town, and spit on the Holy Bible with his blasphemy!! Not in MY town!!'
'What! No! I'm not saying that.. I... I didn't mean it like..' I stammer, having a tough time organising my thoughts.
It's that shotgun. Say something.

'Sheriff!' I kinda shout. Kinda. 'I'm already locked in a cage here, is it really necessary to continue pointing your weapon at me?'

He stares at me with those hard, uncompromising eyes of his. Deep, soul staring eyes. Intense like chilli's. The flavour I mean. He comes to his senses a little, and lowers his weapon once again.

'OK, here's how I see things' he says, scratching his grizzled jaw. 'You've rode down here to help us, and admittedly, and I think you'll agree; murderin' old Limery wasn't a good start'.
'I do agree, Sheriff' I said, actually feeling he'd made a good point.
'But you rode down here nonetheless. And God knows, we're needin' help down here'.
'I believe that, Sheriff' I smile.
'So, perhaps if you're willin' to help me. And by me, I mean us; then we can come to some kind of agreement, and just forget all this nastiness with the murderising ever even took place'.

What a relief. Finally some sense being spoken around here.

'Of course, Sheriff. That is why I'm here after all' I laugh, allowing myself to relax a little. 'So where is he holed up?'
'Who' the Sheriff asks flatly.
'The outlaw Chance Baker'.
'How would I know where he is?' the Sheriff responds bluntly.
'Uh... your office sent a telegram saying Chance Baker had been spotted in this area on a number of ocassions, and considering he is a Wanted man with a sizeable bounty on his head; a Marshall should be dispatched to the area to retrieve him. Your office did send that telegram, didn't they Sheriff?'.
'No'.
'What no?'
'This office sent no such telegram. At least I didn't. What about you Dylan?'

The Deputy shakes his head to signify not sending the telegram. Then why the hell am I here?

'Then why the hell am I here?'
'You're here to help us stop those cattle rapists, Marshall' the Sheriff says, scratching the bridge of his nose.
'What!?' I ask. 'I'm not here to... we recieved a telegram saying Chance Baker was holed up in an old salt mine here!'
'Who? I don't even know who that is!' the Sheriff shouts.
'He's an outlaw! A dangerous outlaw! You sent us a...'
'Marshall, are you callin' me a liar!?'
'Who sent that telegram?'
'I sent a telegram asking for assistance against the cattle rapin' threat down here'.
'There's no way! No way! A US Marshall would not be dispatched because of.. of, men touching animals. Is that even illegal cause I'm not sure it is!'
'How could that not be illegal!? We're talkin' defenceless steer here! And not just the adult ones neither. And even if it's not illegal, it's definitely wrong in the eyes of our Lord n' saviour!
'I don't dispute that, Sheriff. I don't dispute that'.
'Well there ya go then'.
'But I uphold the laws of the Federal Government... not the laws of.. uh.. God. I can't...'
'You're walking a damned fine line here, Marshall, a damned fine line! You've already shot a man down in cold blood, so in my eyes, that'd be reason enough to string you up in the mornin'. And now you're standin' there tellin' me you would choose to defy God too? I think we've heard enough Deputy'
'Wait, no' I plead, searching for reason to keep myself out of the hangman's noose. 'OK. OK. These cattle'.
'Yes?' the Sheriff responds.
'Were they rustled?'
'What?'
'Did the cattle rapers rustle the cattle that they raped? Or currently rape'
'No, Marshall, I do believe they own them cattle' the Deputy pipes up, blowing away my chance at legally getting myself out of the cell.

Fuck it. I've already murdered somebody, I might as well just go with it and maybe I can slip away at some point when nobody is looking.

'Excellent. Then that settles it! I'll stay and help bring justice to these... cattle rapists...' I declare.
'On the basis that they own the cattle that they abuse?' the Sheriff asks.
'Yes' I respond.

As I shuffled through the doorway into the main bar room, I was instantly grateful for Godfrey's subtle lighting scheme. My head throbbed incessantly and the churning in my stomach accompanied by the acid reflux left me feeling rather tender indeed. I turned my head to my right as I moved my pathetic frame toward the bar. Godfrey stood behind it, illuminated softly by the number of candles that lined the length of the worktop. I had a quick look around before slumping down on to the bar stool. It was fairly difficult to see anything else, although it was obvious enough that the furniture was strewn around in a rather unorderly fashion. No doubt from the previous nights festivities. Had it been a good night? The room itself although not being especially long or wide, was high enough to accomodate a deck which was accessed by a winding staircase at the far end of the room opposite the main door. Godfrey had told me he built this himself with his bare hands, which wasn't a rare boast to hear from small business owners, be it Ferrymen to Farmers; they were all out their building something with their bare hands. I suppose it bolstered their authenticity as trustworthy and adept in their craft. And to look at Godfrey, I could believe he had constructed a deck. Not that I felt it had any bearing on his ability to pour alcohol into a glass.

What did fill me with confidence in regards to the man however, was the respect he commanded as he stood behind that bar of his. Like a member of the Imperial Guard manning his post. Maybe that had something to do with his massive frame, or the look in his eyes that told me he'd seen enough to know he wouldn't be taking anymore.

'There you go' he said, pushing a glass across the bar with a very generous measure of whisky contained within.

I stared at the glass for a second, waiting for my body to react to the prospect of drinking more, but it seemed to be on side with Godfrey.

'I thought you said that breakfast was served' I asked, not in the slightest bit upset about the lack of food before me.
'Well considering I haven't seen you eat anything solid since you got here, this would be your breakfast' he bellowed, removing a sod covered glass from a drying rack next to the sink.

As I slumped forward in the bar stool, I raised my right hand up to locate the throbbing in my skull. On making contact with my scalp, I could feel something rough embedded in the skin there, and then something wet.

'Hair of the dog that bit you' Godfrey said, impaling the glass with a clean, white dish towel.

Pulling my hand away from my head, and holding it in the candlelight; I could clearly see it was stained red. My head was bleeding.

'How big was this dog, Godfrey?' I asked, wincing as I run my fingers across what were clearly tiny shards of glass dug into my scalp.
'He was a formidable hound. And he wasn't alone either'

I pushed my folded arms down on to the bar in front of me, and tried to piece together an account in my head; of what might have unfolded the previous night. Certainly I'd remembered feeling varying degrees of merriment as the alcohol consumption continued on. My fellow patrons had been agreeable sorts though, who had taken umbridge to my being here?

'So when you're finished your drink there, I'll ask you to kindly vacate your room, and the premises' Godfrey said, fetching another wet glass from the rack.
'What?' I asked. 'Are you kicking me out?'
'Indeed I am, boy' he chuckled in a manner one might even describe as jolly. 'This is the third altercation that has taken place since you got here, and I'm unwilling to further clean up any mess left by your violent temper'.
'Violent temper?' I asked, struggling a little to understand exactly what had transpired.
'Yes. Now don't get me wrong, you seem like an amicable chap when you're sober but after a few too many; you are like an uncaged beast. And that is bad for business. Everybody here knows that Keystone is a town with extremely lax Imperial Guard presence, essentially; lawless. But if I have a guest here that everybody knows is prone to psychotic outbursts whilst under the influence, then I have a problem. Eventually, somebody will come knocking on that door, and that's attention I don't want or need, lad'.
'How long have I been staying here' I asked, quietly contemplating the beverage in my hand.
'Two weeks'.
'And how much trouble have I started?'.
'Well, your first was admittedly rather low scale. Nobody really got hurt, apart from the fellow who was struck by the Post cart as he ran into the street. He was a coward however, so I can't really hold that one against you'.
'OK' I responded, the clear brown liquid catching the light playfully.
'The other three however. Not at all low scale'.

I leaned back on the stool and looked around at the immediate area in front of the bar. It certainly looked like an altercation or two had taken place. Odd however that Godfrey would decide to throw me out on to the street. I was under the impression that Keystone revelled in the anti-social behaviour of those who passed through here. Not that I could blame the guy for wanting to keep trouble on the outside.

'So I'll be looking for another place to rest my head' I said solemnly, maybe a little too solemnly. I wasn't fishing for pity.
'I was under the impression that you meant to travel North on the Great Archers Way' he said, emptying the rack of it's last glass.
'You were? I mean, you are?'
'You did say something about that when you first got here'

I had said that, although the more I had stayed in the one place, the more I questioned whether there was even any point in me leaving the coast.

'What is it that you're searching for?' Godfrey asked.
'Nothing' I replied.

Don't know if that's strictly true.

'You sailed over 200 miles for no reason?' Godfrey laughed, placing the last clean glass on it's rightful place behind him. 'That wouldn't be the first time I've heard that. Seems like a lot of young men come to Redbrook in search of nothing. Most of the time, I watch them haunt this place and other establishments along the main drag here until they either dissapear, or worse; don't dissapear'.
'Come again' I said, finally taking a slurp of the whisky in my mouth.
'You seen the body hanging from the old Blacksmith's building, didn't you?'
'Oh. Oh yeah, I did. He wasn't a local then?' I asked, savouring the biting flavour of the drink in my mouth.
'Keystone has a very... active population, lad. The numbers fluctuate regularly'.
'Well I didn't come here in search of gold or security, Godfrey. Redbrook's reputation is well known in the Peninsula, so I'm hardly flying blind'.


Godfrey laughed again, propping his formidable frame against the rear of the bar.

'Go ask the rotting carcass swinging in the wind whether it felt like it was flying blind' he said.

I could feel myself losing my temper slightly.

'So what should I do, hop back on the boat and sail back to where it is I came from?'
'I'm not saying that. You came here for a reason, even if you don't feel like sharing that reason with me, which by the way; is a damned good policy to have. Loose lips sink ships and all that. But if you came here with the intention of continuing north, then by all means; continue'.
'So you won't recommend me another Inn, in Keystone then?'
'No. What I could recommend however, is that you arm yourself before you walk through Keystone's main gate'.
'Arm myself with what?'
'A sword maybe? Crossbow? The Blacksmith could probably help you out with that kind of thing'.
'You mean the guy with the rotting corpse dangling in front of his entrance'.
'No. I told you that, that is the old Blacksmith's building. We have a new one now. The old one was murdered'.
'By the hanged guy?'.
'Exactly'.
'Well that's all fine and well, Godfrey, but unfortunately I'm running somewhat low on funds now, and really doubt whether I could stretch to purchasing a sword. Or a crossbow'.

He looked at me for a moment. I could tell her was trying to figure me out. Hell, he'd been doing it since I first propped up this bar two weeks ago and asked for a room. He turned for a moment, then again to face me before popping a small knife with a wooden handle on the bar in front of me.

'Now you be careful, because that is sharp' he said, with not a hint of mocking in his voice.

I stared at it for a moment.

'What is this?' I asked, as if that wasn't already obvious.
'That is the knife I use to slice fruit' he replied.
'You want me to take this?'
'For defensive purposes yes'.

I picked it up and continued to look at it. The blade itself was about five inches long. Maybe. And covered in what I could only assume were lemon pips. I looked at Godfrey.

'Well if you can't afford anything else, then I can't in all good conscious send you out there completely without protection'.
'You use this to cut fruit?' I asked, not quite sure whether I should laugh or feel irate at his bizarre gesture.
'Not anymore I don't' he said with a wink. 'I hope it serves you well in the field, son'.
'In the field...? Godfrey, unless I come up against some kind of demonic fighting fruit out there, I doubt wheth...'

I cut my sentence short due to the entrance of the bar being flung open.

He expired almost instantly. His wish had been to lead a full and unrelenting existence, but he had failed almost instantly the moment he met her. She had been poison running through his once un-poison filled veins. Rubbish he had thought, that poison had to run through them now since that was precisely the stuff that would cease a life from continuing to be. She was a disgusting harpy, and had robbed him of his lust and vigour. And unquestionably his vigorous lust. But why? Why had she failed to heed his warnings that her meddling in the natural order of things would result only in the actual ending of the natural order itself. He shuddered to himself just thinking of the mesmerations she had once enticed upon his very soul.

Not that he actually believed in the soul. Or did he? He had witnessed such magnificence in pursuit of his own self that perhaps his mind had been altered, refabricated and tea bagged into a completely unsubstantial rethinking of something that was what before came his brain.

'Silence you animal' he screamed, launching his dinner plate full force at the floral pattered wallpaper.
'Look outside Walter' she larked, untremendously pouting her face at him.

He had already. He undoubtedly would again. But he wouldn't do it this time. Not on the command of this demonic trollop.

And in a moment it was over. They had failed to come together on an understanding that would recitify what they'd semi-deliberately unrectified in the first instance. He slumped heavily in his chair, the folds of his stomach beef rolling together unceremoniously.

'Can't you imagine what this must be doing to them?' she cried.
'Bemused' Walter said, his pipe merging uncontrollably with his own face. 'Take me back from whence I came, lass'
'Satellites did this to you, Walter'
'Signal to me before I go' he responded, hair ablaze from the mystery of her smirk.

It had been fourteen years since the SS Berkhoffman had exploded. The memorial through no fault of the groundskeeper, had also exploded.

'Chance be it, that I can laminate the rook?' Percy asked, his beard being classified as Tangerine Twist on the Dulux paint colour chart.
'Walk unburdened' his tongue fell off rapidly.

He squeezed out the last of his lament. The water had been cold already when he stepped in the bath, raising questions that shook him gently into a state of mild bereavement.

'Are you picking up what I'm putting down?' Seargent Harris asked, his eyes burning green under the neon lights. 'Chances are, you already two of the same and you didn't even know it!'
'Is that two way glass?' Walter asked, his breath forming small multi-typical toes, and finding it's own way in the world.
'She knew your game from the very get go, lad' Harris pierced Walter's head hearing apparatus with his revelations.

Walter winced. A small rodent had embedded it's way into his central front cortex valve, and it wasn't coming out.

They are grey in appearance, his Doctor had warned him. But on removal, you will undoubtedly notice a changing in their tone.
Walter extruded violently from his actual face port.

'Tangerine Twist' Valerie screamed, unfurling her eyeballs to a most bemused and aroused Lord Hentercun.

He galloped hungrily into the parlour.

And yet it was all over now. A journey of most advocative innocence had been halted undoubtedly by his impulse to impale. Walter wasn't an intelligent man, but what he most certainly was, was half Velociraptor in his direction toward small, almost meaningful goals. He gestated uncontrollably. The plank had been walked, and the spoils (devoid of limbs) had been unable to follow. He rolled infinitely against the teeth of fate. The cards he had been dealt, were double sided.

'Green or blue, Walter, the choice is mine' Hentercun beamed, his lapel bursting uncontrollably through his own cheek bone.

Texas?

The slap had reverberated around the laboratory. Without his hand me downs, her chief concern would be to assist in the unsavoury ascertion of the wish. Hentercun had befriended not one but two of the children, and without his say, there would be no way to lay tarmacadum on their birthdays.

Valerie was beside herself, as was the ritual that day. All the time however, she had struggled to put away the sofa bed. Her calling of him was largely ignored. Trying times were almost undoubtedly ahead of those who had initially signed the sacrament.

'I am in your debt' Charlie laughed, his hair an unspeakable entity in it's own.
'He thinks he's the king of the castle' Walter quipped.
'And what does that make us!?' Charlie laughed, his hair an unspeakable entity in it's own.
'Riddled with fear, or so he would think. But his remiss attitude has unbuckled his own hold over his kin'.

Charlie laughed, his hair an unspeakable entity in it's own.

The truck was old but functioned almost on a sentient basis. Finding itself unworthy of the yard, it had chosen to annihilate all but thirteen of the Jansen children. The old tenament reeked insolently of trust. They would survive however, or they would die trying to survive. That was their pact, and the message they had chosen to write on the toilet walls of Cheltenham Henry's football themed sports toilet.

'Unfurled and unfurious, my wife is 40 today!' she loafed heinously, blood pouring by the gallon from her. This'll take more than a week to lactate.

The crowd exploded. They knew all too well the trials and trails that had so confounded Hentercun. But they would not disallow his optical advantages.

Walter heaved unapologetically, his mind a silent scrawl of penitence.

Lemon flavour had appealed to them greatly, but yellow troubled all but the staunchest of contributors. Hentercun Jnr. had mocked the infallibility of the shade almost daily but his revolution swayed genuinely on the side of ovulation. They knew the clock was ticking.

'Somebody did something' Charlie laughed, his hair an unspeakable entity in it's own.
'Four pints in and it's still slack'

50 was the limit but the needle continued to climb to 40. Beatrice eyed the horizon hilariously. Ten minutes more and they wouldn't have anymore chestnut stew.

'I am without offence' Walter exploded, turning gingerly on one foot.
'They won't even remember you, son' his dad whispered, slithering his fist into the shape of a swan.
'If I don't try, those kids will fall foul of the only man they thought their falling foul of could never conceivably take place' Walter cried, his face twisting into the shape of Alpha Centauri.

Peck.