Unlike Adam, unless a bolt of inspiration hits, I am done for the day. Yay, me!
Line of the day: Three squad cars had stopped willy nilly in the lot and from two of them emerged an impossibly young policeman, gun drawn, to crouch behind the open drivers’ door of the vehicle. From the third squad car unfolded the tallest policeman Fay had ever seen. He looked to be about fifty years old, comfortably paunchy, and graying. He stretched once he was on his feet, his fists digging into his lower back, and his leather gun belt creaked like she was sure his bones did too. He glanced scornfully at his fellow officers. “Oh, for god’s sake, holster your weapons, you two.” He shook his head as if he could not believe the stupidity of the young. “The call said the perp was no longer in the café. That means the bad guy is not here.” When the two younger men did not move, he stepped around the front of his squad car toward them. “Robinson, Davies, put the gun away, I said. You are making us look like fools.” He waved his hand at them as if swatting flies off a cooling pie. “We have enough trouble with credibility in this neighborhood without the two of you showing everybody your Barney Fife impressions. Geez.”
I had my 1000-word-reward popsicle before lunch and now I think I'll go knit a fish.
Daily total: 1635 words
Running total: 26, 466 words (that's 66 pages double spaced with no indents)
--Barbara
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