RoadKiller © 1997 Sharen Nehoda When Skip Davidson pulled out of the parking lot, the clock on the dash read four-thirty-five a.m.. His shift pulling green-chain at Taylor Lumber Company was over, and fatigue pressed his limbs into leaden weights. He yawned into the back of his hand, amazed he could lift his arm that high. Maybe in another week he would have enough muscle tone to escape this condition, but right now, he was hurting. Every sinew in his arms and back had turned to the bodily equivalent of window putty. The saving grace, green-chain paid more than clean-up, five bucks an hour more, and he could use the money. The rattletrap piece of junk he drove probably wouldn’t last through the spring. He swung the old Buick onto the two-lane blacktop the company had put in last year. Must have paid a pretty penny for it, too. Or, bribed enough County Aldermen to get the permit. But, that didn’t matter. It cut almost twenty minutes off his drive home, so who was he to complain? Although still unused to driving at night, he liked the swing shift best. Besides the extra pay, the road had few cars and no cops. Best of all, in the dark quiet of the drive a man could get absorbed in his thoughts and be home before he knew it. Tonight’s thoughts turned to the object of his attentions for the past few months: Lizzy. What was he going to do about her? If he gave her half a chance, she was going to marry him. He just wasn’t ready for that. Yet. Sure, she was a great gal, good-looking too, but a man’s got to have his freedom. Twenty-eight was too young to settle down. Lizzy’s pert, turned-up nose and saucy smile occupied his mind. "Aw, hell," he whispered and flicked on the radio. Country music filled the car. Some nasal-voiced guy complained about how broken hearted he was, and Skip quickly tired of his whining. When he glanced down to change the station, something at the far corner of his vision moved across the embankment to his right. His head snapped up, and he hoped it wasn’t a deer. The vague, tree-lined shoulder was empty. Whatever it was had already whizzed by. A peek at the rear-view mirror proved worthless. The road was pitch-black. The moonless night and overcast sky made a blank slate of the land around the car. He really didn’t expect to see anything, anyway. A cold shiver took him by surprise. He checked the mirror once more, certain something would be there. Blackness. He knit his brow together and tried to recall exactly what he had seen. Just a dark shape. It was hard to tell how big it was, especially when the night played tricks on your tired eyes. "That’s all it was, an illusion caused by shadows. Probably just a coon," he said to himself. Dismissing his uneasiness as fatigue, he went back to fiddling with the radio. Rock and roll blasted from the speakers and he winced. Lizzy’s favorite. He remembered how her bright blue eyes gazed up at him from the seat when she pulled him down onto her. He smiled to himself and poked the classical station. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue filtered in the speaker. Lizzy teased him unmercifully about his choice of music. "What’s a guy workin’ in a lumber mill doing listening to classical stuff?" she’d ask, that crazy fire in her eyes. "A big strong man like you needs a solid beat." He could only grin and shrug. How do you explain something like that? He guessed he got it from his folks. They loved all kinds of music and had about a jillion records when he was a kid. He listened to them, Big Bands, Polkas, Classical, Country, Operas, with the same delighted enthusiasm as his parents. He’d even taken to singing right along with Caruso doing Rigoletto. A black form illuminated by the headlights darted from the side of the road and disappeared into the shadows. With a jolt, he slammed on the brakes but only slowed the car, he didn’t want to stop. His mind reeled. Was that what he saw before? And what the hell was it? The carcass of a deer, probably struck by a car only hours ago, lay where he had seen the shadowy figure. As the headlights illuminated more of the large buck, he saw that something had been feeding on it. While his stomach did a slow roll, he pressed the gas and zipped by. "Coyote," he whispered, "musta been a coyote." A shaky glance up at the rear-view brought no relief from the ticklish sensation of fear that crept over him. Only the faint reddish glow of his taillights, low in the mirror, was visible. The pre-dawn hours were always the most obscure, their shadowy stretch filled with imagined bogies. The spooked feeling continued as he considered what he had seen. The dark shape he recalled was definitely bigger than any coyote he had ever seen. Goose bumps rose on his arms. Hell, it was bigger than the deer. The headlights had revealed something more. Huge chunks of flesh had been torn from the haunch of the carcass. "Probably a bear," he said, but wasn’t convinced of that, either. Only black bears lived in this part of the Siuslaw National Forest, and rarely ate anything bigger than a squirrel. But, it was roadkill, and he’d never known a bear to pass up an easy meal. The Taylor connector would soon empty onto State Road One-twenty-six, and the thought offered some relief. Florence would be another fifteen minutes away once he reached it. The Siuslaw River glimmered dimly to his right. To calm his frazzled nerves, he turned his thoughts back to Lizzy. Her bow-shaped lips smiled up at him from his steamy memory of her. A cascade of long blond hair trailed over the side of the seat and he couldn’t help kissing the inside of her knee. She snagged her cigarette from the ashtray, then blew a smoke ring. "Oh, baby, I love you so," she cooed. Maybe he loved her too, but it would take an act of Congress for him to admit it. She never understood, but that was a guy thing. "Then quit waiting tables at Billy Mac’s and go to work at J.C. Penney like a respectable woman," he said, and pinched her on the thigh. "Just as soon as you start working decent hours, I will too." She was good, always had a comeback he couldn’t counter. But, she was sincerely kind-hearted and put up with his foolishness without so much as a— Something black crouched in the middle of the road. Tears stung his eyes as he shoved the brake pedal clear to the floor and the car went into a skid. The headlights swung around and illuminated the tall Douglas firs lining the side of the road. Still sidelong on the Taylor Lumber Company access road, arms trembling as he gripped the wheel, he craned his neck toward the passenger window to see what he was about to collide with. Instead of a thudding crunch, the solid, black mass rose up, then leaped over the car. Heart pounding, his head snapped around to the driver’s side window when the car screeched to a halt cross-wise in the middle of the road. A deeper blackness filled the pavement about twenty yards from the Buick. His already overburdened heart beat a wild tattoo as the vague image loped toward the car. The vehicle stalled. With a gasp, he fumbled for the keys. The first crank brought nothing but a groan of protest from the starter. "Damn you!" He clenched his jaw against the panic. A distraught glimpse showed the figure less than ten yards away. The menacing black blur grew larger by the second. Mouth dry, he snapped off the headlights and prayed the engine would turn over. Relief rushed over him when the Buick sputtered to life and he pulled the lights on. With a ragged breath, he slammed it into reverse, backed up, then pointed the car straight ahead and pressed the accelerator until it met with resistance. Something thumped the back and a metallic clang reverberated through the heavy, metal body. The old Buick’s V-eight roared into action, and he leaned forward, willing the decrepit engine to propel the car as fast as it could. With a haggard sigh, he gazed into the rear-view. Blackness. He patted the dashboard. "Thank you, Jesus." Another thud and a high pitched whine from the rear of the car startled him. Alarm rushed through him while he fought to control the Buick as it swerved on the darkened roadway. After a moment’s confusion, he realized he’d had a blow out. The old Goodyear’s were nearly bald. "Man, not now." He angled the car toward the shoulder. How far had he traveled since the incident in the middle of the road? A mile? Less? That thing moved fast, that was for sure. If it was still after him, it would be all over him in a second. Dread trickled through him like ice water and he checked the clock on the dash. It blandly displayed the hour, four fifty-two. Still a while until daybreak. The gravel shoulder bumped and crunched under the car. He could roll up the windows and wait for first light, then change the tire. Or, maybe one of the guys from work would drive by and give him a hand. No, he realized, he almost never saw anyone on the Taylor Road on the way home. Everyone on the swing shift lived in Drain or Elkton. He was the only one from Florence. But, he considered, the old Buick was a heavy beast, made of good steel. He’d be safe inside. "I’m going to wait." His announcement sounded hollow in the quiet confines of the car. After promising himself that he was secure, he snapped off the headlights and cut the engine. Since the windows were on hand cranks, he had to clamber about the inside to get the passenger side and the back. That done, he crossed his work-weary arms across his chest and closed his eyes with a sigh. Lizzy’s lovely full lips flashed into view. They were sweet as honey and he never seemed to get enough of the taste of them. "Hey, lover, did you miss me?" she asked. "Not much. Well, maybe a little," he said. He liked to tweak her just a bit, show her he was the independent sort. "Then show me how much you love me," she whispered, her breath hot on his ear. She made an effort to please, he had to give her that. And, maybe after a few years he would marry her. Right now he was happy with it the way it stood. No commitments, no ties, just taking her when he wanted and leaving when things got too tense. Like Saturday night. He really didn’t mean to hurt her feeling like he did. But, if there was any blame, it must have been hers. "Marry me," she had whispered. Now, that’s one phrase a free man didn’t want to hear from a woman. No matter how good-looking she is, or how good a lay, the marry thing was something the man decided. So, when he had laughed at her foolishness, it was only natural that she’d get pissed off. But that was too damn bad. He was a young man and needed his space. No one was tying him down until he was damn good and ready. When he told her that, she got big tears in her eyes, and it made him feel bad. Then she ran out of the house, but he didn’t pay her any mind. She’d be back, begging for more, just like the thousand other times she’d threatened to leave him for good. After three days without her, he already missed her sugary kisses. He would apologize and then make love to her to prove it. A long, screeching scratch against his window startled him from his thoughts of Lizzy. He jerked upright and glanced around, blinking against the palpable darkness filling the car. Just visible in the dim light of approaching dawn, three deep scratches had been incised into the driver’s side window. He stared at the etched marks. They reached from the top of the window to nearly the bottom, and were three inches apart. His heart came up into his throat and lodged there, impossible to swallow back down. Something that big, and could do that kind of damage wouldn’t be kept out by rolled up windows. His chest squeezed out a panicked, "What the..." as he fumbled for the keys. Deep gloom surrounded the Buick and the total silence chilled him to the marrow. Nothing moved outside. Those terrible scratches were the only evidence that he wasn’t imagining things. Rather than find out what kind of horrible creature left that kind of greeting, he would drive on the flat. Breath held, he turned the key. The starter groaned, and his heart sank back to where it belonged, then dipped lower. If he didn’t get it running he would definitely find out exactly kind of monstrosity lurked out there. He widened his eyes and searched through the obscurity outside the windows. Nothing. Blackness. A sad realization struck him. If he died tonight, with no wife or children, there would be nothing here on earth to prove he’d ever been alive. No Davidson legacy to pass on, no grandchildren to tell tales to. Time he did something about that, what he knew was right. He whispered a prayer. "Dear Lord, if I get out of this, I’ll marry Lizzy and never work the swing shift again." He meant it, too. No money in the world was worth being scared shitless, and his denial of Lizzy now seemed childish and mean. "Please, God," he said softly, and cranked the engine. It sputtered to life and he silently thanked his Maker as he threw the car into gear. The headlight showed nothing but empty road as he bumped along on the shoulder. One-twenty-six lay only a couple miles ahead, and an old service station about four miles past the intersection. The wheel would probably be ruined by then, but it was okay. It could be replaced. He couldn’t. It was eight-fifteen when he finally got home. Lizzy lay snuggled in a blanket, sound asleep on his sofa. He’d tell her the story of what happened to him on the road later. The sight of the window, or the trunk where three deep gouges showed something had clung there, was ample proof. But if that wasn’t enough, there were three more punctures in the tire, too, and marks like a row of teeth, eight inches wide, had chomped onto the back bumper. He shivered. There had been deer hair and blood in the indentations the teeth had made. The shark-jawed phantom, or whatever it was, had chased and nearly caught him. He gazed down at his beautiful soon-to-be bride. Sometimes a man has to be shook up to wake up. "Hey baby," he said and knelt by her. When he kissed her cheek her eyes fluttered open. "I love you," he said softly. Her pretty blue eyes widened, then brimmed with tears. She threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, honey, I’ve waited so long for you to say that." He pulled back and took her hand. "Marry me?" "Yes!" She squeezed him so tight he though his lungs would collapse. Then she let go and got up. "You wait right there, I gotta powder my nose, then I’m going to come back and let you show me just how much you meant that." She giggled, spun in a little circle, then disappeared into the bathroom. He grinned at her backside as she closed the door. A good woman like Lizzy deserved a better life. He’d make sure she got it. ****** Delighted, Lizzy closed the door and grinned into the mirror. Finally. After all these months. A quick review of her refection, and she stepped closer to the mirror. Cocking her head to the side, she noticed something caught in her teeth. "Oops. Good thing I came in here first," she said as she pulled out the deer hair that had wedged there. "The things a girl’s gotta do to catch her man." Back to FMTM
RoadKiller
© 1997 Sharen Nehoda
When Skip Davidson pulled out of the parking lot, the clock on the dash read four-thirty-five a.m.. His shift pulling green-chain at Taylor Lumber Company was over, and fatigue pressed his limbs into leaden weights. He yawned into the back of his hand, amazed he could lift his arm that high.
Maybe in another week he would have enough muscle tone to escape this condition, but right now, he was hurting. Every sinew in his arms and back had turned to the bodily equivalent of window putty. The saving grace, green-chain paid more than clean-up, five bucks an hour more, and he could use the money. The rattletrap piece of junk he drove probably wouldn’t last through the spring.
He swung the old Buick onto the two-lane blacktop the company had put in last year. Must have paid a pretty penny for it, too. Or, bribed enough County Aldermen to get the permit. But, that didn’t matter. It cut almost twenty minutes off his drive home, so who was he to complain?
Although still unused to driving at night, he liked the swing shift best. Besides the extra pay, the road had few cars and no cops. Best of all, in the dark quiet of the drive a man could get absorbed in his thoughts and be home before he knew it.
Tonight’s thoughts turned to the object of his attentions for the past few months: Lizzy. What was he going to do about her? If he gave her half a chance, she was going to marry him. He just wasn’t ready for that. Yet. Sure, she was a great gal, good-looking too, but a man’s got to have his freedom. Twenty-eight was too young to settle down.
Lizzy’s pert, turned-up nose and saucy smile occupied his mind. "Aw, hell," he whispered and flicked on the radio. Country music filled the car. Some nasal-voiced guy complained about how broken hearted he was, and Skip quickly tired of his whining.
When he glanced down to change the station, something at the far corner of his vision moved across the embankment to his right. His head snapped up, and he hoped it wasn’t a deer. The vague, tree-lined shoulder was empty. Whatever it was had already whizzed by.
A peek at the rear-view mirror proved worthless. The road was pitch-black. The moonless night and overcast sky made a blank slate of the land around the car. He really didn’t expect to see anything, anyway.
A cold shiver took him by surprise. He checked the mirror once more, certain something would be there. Blackness. He knit his brow together and tried to recall exactly what he had seen. Just a dark shape. It was hard to tell how big it was, especially when the night played tricks on your tired eyes.
"That’s all it was, an illusion caused by shadows. Probably just a coon," he said to himself. Dismissing his uneasiness as fatigue, he went back to fiddling with the radio.
Rock and roll blasted from the speakers and he winced. Lizzy’s favorite. He remembered how her bright blue eyes gazed up at him from the seat when she pulled him down onto her. He smiled to himself and poked the classical station. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue filtered in the speaker. Lizzy teased him unmercifully about his choice of music.
"What’s a guy workin’ in a lumber mill doing listening to classical stuff?" she’d ask, that crazy fire in her eyes. "A big strong man like you needs a solid beat."
He could only grin and shrug. How do you explain something like that? He guessed he got it from his folks. They loved all kinds of music and had about a jillion records when he was a kid. He listened to them, Big Bands, Polkas, Classical, Country, Operas, with the same delighted enthusiasm as his parents. He’d even taken to singing right along with Caruso doing Rigoletto.
A black form illuminated by the headlights darted from the side of the road and disappeared into the shadows. With a jolt, he slammed on the brakes but only slowed the car, he didn’t want to stop. His mind reeled. Was that what he saw before? And what the hell was it?
The carcass of a deer, probably struck by a car only hours ago, lay where he had seen the shadowy figure. As the headlights illuminated more of the large buck, he saw that something had been feeding on it. While his stomach did a slow roll, he pressed the gas and zipped by.
"Coyote," he whispered, "musta been a coyote."
A shaky glance up at the rear-view brought no relief from the ticklish sensation of fear that crept over him. Only the faint reddish glow of his taillights, low in the mirror, was visible. The pre-dawn hours were always the most obscure, their shadowy stretch filled with imagined bogies.
The spooked feeling continued as he considered what he had seen. The dark shape he recalled was definitely bigger than any coyote he had ever seen. Goose bumps rose on his arms. Hell, it was bigger than the deer. The headlights had revealed something more. Huge chunks of flesh had been torn from the haunch of the carcass.
"Probably a bear," he said, but wasn’t convinced of that, either. Only black bears lived in this part of the Siuslaw National Forest, and rarely ate anything bigger than a squirrel. But, it was roadkill, and he’d never known a bear to pass up an easy meal.
The Taylor connector would soon empty onto State Road One-twenty-six, and the thought offered some relief. Florence would be another fifteen minutes away once he reached it. The Siuslaw River glimmered dimly to his right.
To calm his frazzled nerves, he turned his thoughts back to Lizzy. Her bow-shaped lips smiled up at him from his steamy memory of her. A cascade of long blond hair trailed over the side of the seat and he couldn’t help kissing the inside of her knee.
She snagged her cigarette from the ashtray, then blew a smoke ring. "Oh, baby, I love you so," she cooed. Maybe he loved her too, but it would take an act of Congress for him to admit it. She never understood, but that was a guy thing.
"Then quit waiting tables at Billy Mac’s and go to work at J.C. Penney like a respectable woman," he said, and pinched her on the thigh.
"Just as soon as you start working decent hours, I will too."
She was good, always had a comeback he couldn’t counter. But, she was sincerely kind-hearted and put up with his foolishness without so much as a—
Something black crouched in the middle of the road. Tears stung his eyes as he shoved the brake pedal clear to the floor and the car went into a skid. The headlights swung around and illuminated the tall Douglas firs lining the side of the road. Still sidelong on the Taylor Lumber Company access road, arms trembling as he gripped the wheel, he craned his neck toward the passenger window to see what he was about to collide with.
Instead of a thudding crunch, the solid, black mass rose up, then leaped over the car. Heart pounding, his head snapped around to the driver’s side window when the car screeched to a halt cross-wise in the middle of the road. A deeper blackness filled the pavement about twenty yards from the Buick.
His already overburdened heart beat a wild tattoo as the vague image loped toward the car. The vehicle stalled. With a gasp, he fumbled for the keys. The first crank brought nothing but a groan of protest from the starter.
"Damn you!" He clenched his jaw against the panic. A distraught glimpse showed the figure less than ten yards away. The menacing black blur grew larger by the second. Mouth dry, he snapped off the headlights and prayed the engine would turn over. Relief rushed over him when the Buick sputtered to life and he pulled the lights on.
With a ragged breath, he slammed it into reverse, backed up, then pointed the car straight ahead and pressed the accelerator until it met with resistance. Something thumped the back and a metallic clang reverberated through the heavy, metal body.
The old Buick’s V-eight roared into action, and he leaned forward, willing the decrepit engine to propel the car as fast as it could. With a haggard sigh, he gazed into the rear-view. Blackness. He patted the dashboard. "Thank you, Jesus."
Another thud and a high pitched whine from the rear of the car startled him. Alarm rushed through him while he fought to control the Buick as it swerved on the darkened roadway. After a moment’s confusion, he realized he’d had a blow out. The old Goodyear’s were nearly bald.
"Man, not now." He angled the car toward the shoulder. How far had he traveled since the incident in the middle of the road? A mile? Less? That thing moved fast, that was for sure. If it was still after him, it would be all over him in a second.
Dread trickled through him like ice water and he checked the clock on the dash. It blandly displayed the hour, four fifty-two. Still a while until daybreak. The gravel shoulder bumped and crunched under the car. He could roll up the windows and wait for first light, then change the tire. Or, maybe one of the guys from work would drive by and give him a hand.
No, he realized, he almost never saw anyone on the Taylor Road on the way home. Everyone on the swing shift lived in Drain or Elkton. He was the only one from Florence. But, he considered, the old Buick was a heavy beast, made of good steel. He’d be safe inside.
"I’m going to wait." His announcement sounded hollow in the quiet confines of the car. After promising himself that he was secure, he snapped off the headlights and cut the engine. Since the windows were on hand cranks, he had to clamber about the inside to get the passenger side and the back. That done, he crossed his work-weary arms across his chest and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Lizzy’s lovely full lips flashed into view. They were sweet as honey and he never seemed to get enough of the taste of them.
"Hey, lover, did you miss me?" she asked.
"Not much. Well, maybe a little," he said. He liked to tweak her just a bit, show her he was the independent sort.
"Then show me how much you love me," she whispered, her breath hot on his ear.
She made an effort to please, he had to give her that. And, maybe after a few years he would marry her. Right now he was happy with it the way it stood. No commitments, no ties, just taking her when he wanted and leaving when things got too tense. Like Saturday night. He really didn’t mean to hurt her feeling like he did. But, if there was any blame, it must have been hers.
"Marry me," she had whispered.
Now, that’s one phrase a free man didn’t want to hear from a woman. No matter how good-looking she is, or how good a lay, the marry thing was something the man decided. So, when he had laughed at her foolishness, it was only natural that she’d get pissed off. But that was too damn bad. He was a young man and needed his space. No one was tying him down until he was damn good and ready.
When he told her that, she got big tears in her eyes, and it made him feel bad. Then she ran out of the house, but he didn’t pay her any mind. She’d be back, begging for more, just like the thousand other times she’d threatened to leave him for good.
After three days without her, he already missed her sugary kisses. He would apologize and then make love to her to prove it.
A long, screeching scratch against his window startled him from his thoughts of Lizzy. He jerked upright and glanced around, blinking against the palpable darkness filling the car. Just visible in the dim light of approaching dawn, three deep scratches had been incised into the driver’s side window. He stared at the etched marks. They reached from the top of the window to nearly the bottom, and were three inches apart. His heart came up into his throat and lodged there, impossible to swallow back down.
Something that big, and could do that kind of damage wouldn’t be kept out by rolled up windows. His chest squeezed out a panicked, "What the..." as he fumbled for the keys.
Deep gloom surrounded the Buick and the total silence chilled him to the marrow. Nothing moved outside. Those terrible scratches were the only evidence that he wasn’t imagining things. Rather than find out what kind of horrible creature left that kind of greeting, he would drive on the flat.
Breath held, he turned the key. The starter groaned, and his heart sank back to where it belonged, then dipped lower. If he didn’t get it running he would definitely find out exactly kind of monstrosity lurked out there. He widened his eyes and searched through the obscurity outside the windows. Nothing. Blackness. A sad realization struck him. If he died tonight, with no wife or children, there would be nothing here on earth to prove he’d ever been alive. No Davidson legacy to pass on, no grandchildren to tell tales to. Time he did something about that, what he knew was right.
He whispered a prayer. "Dear Lord, if I get out of this, I’ll marry Lizzy and never work the swing shift again." He meant it, too. No money in the world was worth being scared shitless, and his denial of Lizzy now seemed childish and mean. "Please, God," he said softly, and cranked the engine.
It sputtered to life and he silently thanked his Maker as he threw the car into gear. The headlight showed nothing but empty road as he bumped along on the shoulder. One-twenty-six lay only a couple miles ahead, and an old service station about four miles past the intersection. The wheel would probably be ruined by then, but it was okay. It could be replaced. He couldn’t.
It was eight-fifteen when he finally got home. Lizzy lay snuggled in a blanket, sound asleep on his sofa. He’d tell her the story of what happened to him on the road later. The sight of the window, or the trunk where three deep gouges showed something had clung there, was ample proof. But if that wasn’t enough, there were three more punctures in the tire, too, and marks like a row of teeth, eight inches wide, had chomped onto the back bumper. He shivered. There had been deer hair and blood in the indentations the teeth had made. The shark-jawed phantom, or whatever it was, had chased and nearly caught him.
He gazed down at his beautiful soon-to-be bride. Sometimes a man has to be shook up to wake up. "Hey baby," he said and knelt by her. When he kissed her cheek her eyes fluttered open. "I love you," he said softly. Her pretty blue eyes widened, then brimmed with tears. She threw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, honey, I’ve waited so long for you to say that."
He pulled back and took her hand. "Marry me?"
"Yes!"
She squeezed him so tight he though his lungs would collapse. Then she let go and got up.
"You wait right there, I gotta powder my nose, then I’m going to come back and let you show me just how much you meant that."
She giggled, spun in a little circle, then disappeared into the bathroom. He grinned at her backside as she closed the door. A good woman like Lizzy deserved a better life. He’d make sure she got it.
******
Delighted, Lizzy closed the door and grinned into the mirror. Finally. After all these months. A quick review of her refection, and she stepped closer to the mirror. Cocking her head to the side, she noticed something caught in her teeth.
"Oops. Good thing I came in here first," she said as she pulled out the deer hair that had wedged there. "The things a girl’s gotta do to catch her man."
Back to FMTM
