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Weekly Contest #375
“How is one meant to pity pity?” Trua asked with a chuckle in her tone. “For a stupid deal. Honestly. You should just pick a clock that doesn’t have the typo, or whatever. I mean it. It’s so weird.” True held the clock up. Alan could imagine with her tilted head, scrunched nose, and contemplative face that she was picturing it on a wall somewhere, or stood on a mantle. Her smile was so lovely, more so than her creamish blonde hair or her pale blue eyes or the dresses she wore to make her twirls and jogs and sashaying more lively. Yet now Ala...
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