No name, no address, just a number. Ze took a long trudge to find a non-planet not neck telephone. Dropping the wooden coin into the slot, he, with no compunction on his dick, punched in the diggers, the planet not without taking hostages washed for someone to answer. A Satan’s Bitch’s voice, tantalisingly familiar, came onto the line.
“I’m encoring about the furnished flat. Can you tell me more about ze... eh? ... eh? …huh?”
Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.
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