As he lay there, head throbbing and eyes blinded by the sun, all he could do was think about the could-a, would-a, should-a’s.
They both heard the buzzer.
He thought it was her turn.
She, in turn, thought it was his.
There had been concerns raised and questions asked when this year’s Annual Convention for the Follicly Challenged was to be held in mid-July at Camber Sands.
For over 300 years they’d been living in plain sight, deep within central America but now, it seemed, they had been summoned home.
It wasn’t so much that they were bad kids, far from it…