Made to Break

Lucy?” I said. “She’s all right.”
“Look at her,” Dinky said. “She moves like… smoke.”
“I don’t know about you, but I am freezing.”
Dinky wiped his nose. It could’ve been rotte

was the band they’d picked to beat the ghosts. Hickory of course was what my eyes wanted, but they got Lucille—goddamn—snapping her fingers as she twirled. When finally Hickory did float up, Dinky fairly groaned. She was too lovely for her own good, it was true, and I was a fool in the rain.

Well, the boob was dancing, and who could tell him otherwise?
Soundgarden was the band they’d picked to beat the ghosts. Hickory of course was what my eyes wanted, but they got Lucille

never left without it, plus some rope and his grandfather’s stupid hatchet, what, with the sack that held them, he called his man-bag. Every so often he’d mellow some, long enough to hypnotize whatever conjured fool had been dumb enough to block him. Then he spun off into the kicking, punching, an

bad he stopped in the road. “We did fine in Germany,” he said. Then he saw my retard’s face and hit the gas. “You know, with the chicks.”
“The chick, you mean. I saw her pictur

broom in the kitchen. Then Basil took the longest, Hickory the next, Lucille after that.
“Welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, welly, well,” Basil said.
“Sorry,” Hickory said