Carver’s head throbbed as if an entire stampede had run over
it. No more drinking. Ever. He then reached for his flask and finished off his
Jim Beam.
As he sat up with a juicy belch, he rubbed his jaw and wiped
the sleep from his eyes. The sheep called in the distance, and a few hens
clucked around his feet. At least he landed in a haystack… but he had no clue
where the haystack was. He looked around and spotted his motored bi-glider.
P.B.'s not going to be happy, but everything seemed to be
in order.
“’Bout time you woke up, Mister.” A young woman’s voice called
behind him. Carver turned around to see blonde curls framing the most watery
blue eyes he had ever seen. The rest of her weren’t bad, neither—except for the
shotgun she pointed at him.
“Look, I’m sorry, Miss…?” No response. “I’m sorry, ma’am. If
there’s any damage, I’ll pay for it.”
“Oh, you’ll pay! You’ll pay alright!” The woman screeched as
she took aim and cocked the shotgun.
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