Write four lines of prose about: pain.
I would expect a return to Vancouver Irrealis on Sunday, for those of you who might be wondering about that.
The apricot trees are filling with blossoms, the bees are buzzing, the sun is shining.
It's a good time of year.
"Why does Luke have to be such a royal pain in the a-"
"He's not," I said, cutting her off before I was left with no choice but to ground her. "He's your little brother, that's all."
"So what," she snapped, half-turning and pointing behind her with a finger adorned with too many rings, "that means I have to just accept this fork being stuck here?"