If you’re going for “Savory Steaks”, you have to go down 180th street.

I just passed 180th street.

O…

The driver kept glancing round theirself. I’ll turn round @ the next turn.

It’s too late, said the passenger, despondent.

No it’s not: I can just turn round; it’ll be fine.

But when they turned round, they were shocked to find that 180th street was missing: 181st passed on directly to 179th. & with their only steak place locked ’way fore’er, they starved in eternal driving, ne’er able to reach an end.

’Twas always part o’ Werner’s personal policy: when he saw a car stopped in the middle o’ the grass, he stopped his own car & got out to pull his cables out o’ his trunk, to connect their cars, a bond that could ne’er be severed.

The car’s owner, Penney, insisted that he didn’t need to do that, that she was all right, that some crazy driver just blindsighted her & rushed ’way & she could call her insurance to fix everything. But Werner didn’t listen. When he continued to move toward her car, her voice became sterner, & then mo’ alarmed.

But before she could stop him, he connected the cars together, a bond that could ne’er be severed.

I know what to do.

Blue aimed its shooter not @ the monster’s eye, not @ its nose, not @ its head, not @ its heart, but @ its 1 tooth hanging downward like a stalactite. After a few misses, Blue finally hit it, shattering it into pieces.

’Course, the monster was stunned in pain. But ’bove that, afterward, it stumbled round with its hands out.

Red looked @ Blue. ¿What?

I remember this on that website, replied Blue. It’s that tooth through which the monster sees the world. Without it, the monster is powerless.

Cinema historians all know the reason Eye o’ the Tater failed: ’twas all due to its then-illustruous star, Russet Burbanks, or as everyone called him, “The Spud”.

Spud made the demands that usually got in the way o’ production & turned ’way other good actors. French Frieda was so offended by Spud’s misogynous views that she refused to act in the movie ’pon hearing he was in it. Meanwhile, Spud kept creating delays when he demanded he be in every scene, e’en when it didn’t fit, with the threat o’ quitting if he didn’t get his way. Despite the hefty 2-billion price o’ breaking contract, Spud had ’bout 1,000 times that & had lived up to his threat in Half-Baked, which was disastrous for their marketing, having already paid for multi-million-₧ ads promising he’d be the star.

The failure o’ both these films ruined Spud’s reputation in Tuberwood. Movies avoided him like blight & in his later years he fell into alcoholism till he finally died in a drunken car crash 6 years later.

Francene felt a sharp pain go through her chest for just a moment, but then it went ’way immediately.

What came with it was a sudden craving for Reese’s peanutbuttercups. She knew deep in her heart that they would not only fill the emptiness o’ her decades-long loneliness, but also that you could get 2 big bags for only 500₧ @ the nearest Fred-Mart for the rest o’ this October.

As if led by a magnet, she walked out into the damp, gray afternoon & into her car & drove off to the nearest Fred-Mart. There she bought as many bags o’ Reese’s peanutbuttercups as she could afford & filled her house with them till ’twas her that they were devouring — & that was truly what she wanted all ’long.

Anibal kept wriggling on the couch, unable to get his back comfortable.

Tell me, ¿how was your childhood? ¿Good? ¿Bad? ¿OK?, Chance asked sitting forward in his chair, notepad wobbling on his knees.

Anibal turned to Chance. I don’t feel comfortable ’bout this. I’m not giving you my private info, no matter how much you pay me.

Chance had a look o’ mock concern on his face. ¿How dangerous could a few innocuous stories be? You don’t need to name names: just treat it like a fiction story.

Anibal finally decided to treat it just like that: by making stories up wholefabric.

Finally, their hour ended & Anibal sat back up, rubbing his back gratefully.

I think we truly accomplished a lot, said Chance. Thank you.

As Anibal reached the door, he turned back to Chance & said, Don’t take this meanly, but for your sake, I think this weird fetish o’ yours would be better worked out in therapy.

Chance didn’t say anything as Anibal left; he just had a blank stare.

The gasping faces turned to the ambulance as it screeched onto the scene. A second after, the back doors opened, & out jumped the Goodoctor with a baby-blue doctor’s purse in 1 hand.

Step aside, folk.

The crowd split back as the Goodoctor walked toward the patient: a crab with many parts o’ its shell cracked open & spilling pus, as well as covered in tire tracks. But the limp claw shaking weakly told her that ’twas still ’live.

She bent down & applied the best medicine for drive-o’ers — the rare Mud o’ Honey. She pulled out the bottle from her purse & began lightly spreading multiple layers on its shell. The cracks & openings began to refill & the crab itself began to rise with strength.

The crab began to blubber, I don’t know what to say. I’ve ne’er felt so much better in all my life, & nobody’s e’er cared ’nough to —

Before he could finish, they were all, including the crowd, run o’er by a cavalcade o’ cars.

Ezra’s eyes wandered the racks with distate.

¿We don’t have any ordinary shirt @ home?

Mercelo was sliding through shirt after shirt on 1 rack.

I wanted something fresh for him.

Ezra put his hands in his pockets with stiff-in arms as if trying to protect them from the air.

¿Shouldn’t you be getting him a tux or something?

That’s too stiff, said Marcelo as he moved on to ’nother rack. I wanted something mo’ to his personality. He stopped @ a shirt hanging with its face out. He stepped back & pointed to it. ¿How ’bout this?

Ezra stared witheringly @ a lime T-shirt with a yellow smiley face on it, & then looked ’way.

Where that smiley face is, ¿what if… something seeps into it?

Marcelo turned back to the shirt. Don’t be silly: they’ll clean that up ’fore we put it on him.

Ezra muttered to himself, Yes, I’m the 1 being silly…

On a windy late afternoon, when the sky was brown, the grass was harvest yellow, the trees e’en under direct sunlight were shriveled & black, & the sun was pale white, 2 officers stood @ the edge o’ a filmy-surfaced purple lake & stared down into it.

It took many minutes before 1 dared to speak:

¿What do we do now?

The other rubbed his irritant red eye. Well, it’s obvious who did this. The problem is getting them.

As they walked ’way, 1 said to the othr, Watch your step: we don’t need ’nother skeleton in there.

Lorelei Slocum didn’t reply yet or give ’way any emotion, but simply watched the guy in his loose tie spiel:

Now, I want you to look @ this atmosphere — this color-changing sky rich in oxygen & chlorofluorocarbon to block out nasty solar radiation.

She had to admit, if he was talking truth, his location perfectly fit the design o’ her characters.

He then went on to talk ’bout the variety o’ the location, though Lorelei couldn’t help noticing that ’bout 2 / 3 o’ it was just water. Finally he turned to her like a child begging a parent for the newest game console & asked her what her decision was. Lorelei hesitated.

I’ll have to talk to the rest o’ my team…