Sorry about the delays, folks. Working an entire extra week of overtime in three days is taking its toll on me this week. Gotta get prepped for GenCon, monetarily speaking...
Myron held his breath for the final bit of stitching. The lapels were the hardest part.
Rich clumped into the kitchen and paused. "What are you doing?"
"Making celery suits," said Myron.
"And these?" Rich poked at the cardboard boxes that littered the floor.
Myron looked up, brows raised. "They've been displaced by the war."
"Right," Rich sighed. "I'm going to watch TV." Before Myron realized it, Rich had pushed past and opened the fridge.
"No!" cried Myron. "The radishes..."
He was too late. The pop-pop-pop of peashooter sounded, and Rich fell like a sack of potatoes.
Game Theory in Writing Part 1: Goals vs. Milestones
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