Caramel Dean poofed out her lips and sucked them back in. Poofed them back out. Sucked them back in.
“Booooored!” she growled.
Caramel looked to her left. Just an empty, dusty street. To her right, the milktoast gentleman with whom she’d tried to strike a conversation with twenty minutes prior. He glanced nervously at her with the corner of his eye. She gave him a withering enough look to make a Rotty go tummy up.
Then she smiled.
Then she pushed him off the bench.
The man’s name was Chance and he had a dusty and sore bottom. Now, most people would have said something like “What’d you do that for?” at the very least. If they were having an especially bad or good day, they might even push her right back. If they had a proclivity to violence, they might slap Caramel. If they were ladykillers in the other sense, they might start making out with her then and there.
Caramel would have welcomed any response at all, but she didn’t account for the fact that Chance had no spine.
When Chance was a child, he tended to play with his sister’s dolls. When some of the neighborhood kids tore their heads off, he played with headless dolls. When his parents became worried and took those away, he merely sat and stared at the wall most of the day. In college, his councilors forgot to tell him he graduated. He took classes for an extra year.
So, it was not so unusual for Chance to dust off his rear and sit back down in his spot, swallowing heavily as Caramel looked him over.
She poofed her lips out and snuffed through her nose. Then she rested her head on his lap and rested, at least until the bus came. Chance stayed extra still so he wouldn’t disturb her.
Awesome Pie! 