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Weekly Contest #361
According to the weatherman who looked like a dilapidated porn star, it was the hottest day in Littlefork, Minnesota since 1962. Charlie didn’t need a weatherman to tell her that. The back of her white tank top was wet and fused with the bohemian area rug Mason had gotten her for last Christmas. That told her enough. The heat and buzz from the TV turned out to be too hot for Charlie to handle, so she turned poor Mr. Weatherman back to black. As the pixels silenced near her ears, large footsteps started to travel down the all-natural wood sta...
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