We return today to the first line prompt. That means we all get the same opening line, but then each of us takes it where our individual inspirations tell us to go. I'll get to the line in a minute.
This morning I finally got around to sowing our winter cover crop seed in the garden. So that, I think, means we're officially done with the farm until spring. Unless I'm forgetting something. Which I probably am.
Max and I were back at soccer class this afternoon (Kat and Miles stayed home so that he could nap... which he didn't). He had lots of fun and was even more excited to see that they're starting to put up Christmas decorations at the community centre.
So of course we ended up putting a few things up around our house after we got home.
Anyway. Let's get to the writing thing. Our opening shall be: Muriel picked up the newspaper and, as she had for the previous fifty mornings, turned immediately to the Classifieds and began perusing the Help Wanted ads.
Muriel picked up the newspaper and, as she had for the previous fifty mornings, turned immediately to the Classifieds and began perusing the Help Wanted ads. She sipped her coffee as she did so - a lingering indulgence that she would not be able to justify (or afford) for much longer. At least, not if her job search continued to prove futile.
And at first it seemed like nothing would change that day. There were the usual assortment of ads for tech workers and fast typing receptionists (both categories stretching well beyond her current capabilities), along with the various minimum wage jobs that would never be enough to pay her bills: fast food counter person (could you imagine?), lawn maintenance (At her age? They'd die of laughter the moment she walked through the door!), gas station attendant (she didn't even like pumping her own gas), and farm workers (her knees no longer allowed her to work the garden in the back yard - the idea of weeding somebody else's veggies was almost enough to make her nauseous).
It was depressing, is what it was.
But then an ad caught her eye.
Wanted: One Henchman
You: Not squeamish. Discreet. Willing to do
whatever is required in order to get the job done.
Previous Henchman experience an asset.
Us: Well funded. Access to delicate information.
How to apply: Figure it out and the job is
practically yours already.
Well, Muriel thought as she set the paper aside. It had been a long time... but for the sake of a decent paycheck, she could see herself dusting off those old skills.