I guess I should focus on the holiday season...
We watched the sleighs take off in the night, patted ourselves on the back, and headed back into the Workshop to enjoy our only night off before we'd have to plan for next year. An hour later, one of the sleighs comes back. Rocket's got three bullets in his flank and Chancer's hanging dead from the harness. There's a big black boot caught in a sleigh skid. I tugged it loose, and a few bloody toes fall out. "Squad seventy-two," I mumble. Pacific Northwest. Trouble over Pocatello. We warned the Santa, but they never listen. That's what spares are for.
It's not a very Merry Christmas here right now.
My wife and I went to Vegas for a small wedding five years ago. Just a few close friends and family.
Well, one of those people is in a Corpus Christi hospital right now, and despite our hopes and prayers, things are not looking good.
Not sure if I'll write anything about it. Odd, how there's less and more than 100 words at the same time for something.
