Write four lines of prose about: the message.
We collected thirteen pints of strawberries this morning, two unexpected pints of raspberries this evening, and a few bags of greens to go with our (still too large) collection of plants to bring to the market tomorrow. Hopefully we won't be bringing too much of it back home!
This afternoon I went for my quarterly blood test, which I plan on actually staying on top of for once now that I a) have a family doctor, and b) actually like her. Anyway, on top of that I'm also getting my blood type tested since Kat is O negative. I wasn't aware of this before, but apparently if mine is positive she'll need to take a shot of some sort if we have any interest in having another baby.
One of the people at the medical lab told me that a hundred years ago we wouldn't have even been allowed to marry with conflicting blood types. So, um, hurray for modern times?
I reach for my phone the moment the man in the black suit enters my office and my heart sinks when I discover there's no dial tone. He is carrying a duffel bag in his black-gloved hands and without a word places it on my desk.
He unzips it slowly and begins to unpack it; my breathing becomes ragged and sweat breaks out all over my body at the sight of the hammer, pliers, and toothpicks.
"Good evening, Mr. Sanchez," he says as he picks up the hammer, "our mutual friend Mrs. Matthews has asked me to deliver a message to you."