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Weekly Contest #371
When the clock struck fifteen minutes past midnight., Parlov waddled out of his room, one hand clutching his laundry basket, and the other, his Berry Minty vape pen. His Ma grunted at him in acknowledgement - it was, after all, his first venture out of his room that day - and waved her bony finger towards the yellowish-green plastic bag near the front door. Her eyes never once strayed from their rusty, old television; sturdy thing that piece was, having lasted as long as his grandmother. By the sound of the squeaky voice through the an...
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