The smell coming from the thug robbing me was horrendous. More than the usual body odour you’d expect on a hot Saturday night, worse even than an open sewer. 1,110 more words
by Charles McKelvy
The command was clear: “Lope your ponies.”
The command was clear, but Julie’s execution was not.
She knew she knew what “lope” meant, but she was way too nervous, so she told her “pony,” the 15-year-old gelding, Maximillian, to “pick up the pace, Max.” 323 more words