update from sparkleup
This commit is contained in:
parent
a0495c12f5
commit
d735084e85
|
@ -53,8 +53,7 @@ And the bear is out the van now and parking her backside against the front of th
|
|||
|
||||
And Sim is off spinning again, spinning into the dark, and surely Ursula's got a smile or something going on as he calls out to her --- "Two gardens! A row of carrots in front cause I know you love those and maybe a whole fuckin' mess of beets out back" --- but we'll never know, will we? Sim won't settle his eyes on her long enough, he's too busy jumping.
|
||||
|
||||
And let's just suppose they managed it. Let's just picture what that looks like. Ursula dressed in those coveralls that fit her just so, standing up to her ankles in good clean earth, turned over and over with peat and that sheep shit fertilizer that somehow manages to smell like it could grow things even on the moon. We can just imagine, if we like, that Ursula'd plow furrows herself with those handfuls of claws, dropping seeds in their wake. We can suppose that she'd baby those beets until she could cradle them herself, plucked fresh from the earth. Would she kiss them, you think? Would she sing them lullabies? Surely fresh-grown beets make a hell of a stew.
|
||||
|
||||
And let's just suppose they managed it. Let's just picture what that looks like, Ursula dressed in those coveralls that fit her just so, standing up to her ankles in good clean earth, turned over and over with peat and that sheep shit fertilizer that somehow manages to smell like it could grow things even on the moon. We can just imagine, if we like, that Ursula'd plow furrows herself with those handfuls of claws, dropping seeds in their wake. We can suppose that she'd baby those beets until she could cradle them herself, plucked fresh from the earth. Would she kiss them, you think? Would she sing them lullabies? Surely fresh-grown beets make a hell of a stew.
|
||||
|
||||
But still, they had got to earn their keep, hadn't they? That's what Sim said, kept saying, would always say at the drop of a hat, at the drop of a haul, every time they hopped in the van after a heist or holdup. He'd promise her late at night in bed, and maybe he'd even call out to her across a gas station or over the hood of some poor sop's car as the fox or cat or whatever shrieked and threw coins at her feet and recoiled in terror.
|
||||
|
||||
|
|
Loading…
Reference in New Issue