Friday, March 17, 2006

An Ill Wind

Rupert felt a blast of hot air like the Santa Anna winds that blow through the San Fernando Valley in October, drying out your lips and irritating your eyes, when the feint aroma that wafted up between the sheets told him Priscilla had farted and that it was the same familiar stench he had smelled once before that evening; at that moment he realized a grave injustice had been done earlier when his beloved golden retriever Bruce had been awakened from a peaceful sleep and was made to go outside.

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