A low rumble invaded Meta's dream. Leaning her ear against the safe wall of her father's chest, she could feel the vibrations through his sweater. The dream fireplace cast orange flickering lights in the nightmare room.
My Brave Eunuch
In the Camelot fifties, Catholic virgins slept with their hands above the covers. Grown ignorant in the Sixties, romantic women tripped over each other to get to Robert. His friends paid his rent for the rare book shop.
Annie recited her daily tirade as she passed the Viet Nam vet, Hail, Harry, full of lice, the ghouls be with you. Humbled art thou amongst men and cussed is the shame of our nation.