This week’s winner? John, for both his witty comment on the
English language and for the promise of ‘Mexican Cutie’, despite it having put
a sliver of a relentless song in my head. In second place, Patricia, for ‘Autumnal Equinox’. Thank you all for a week of
excellent reading, and I urge you to check out Zaiure’s too-late-to-qualify ‘Furrow’
Words
for next week: felt map tenuous
Entries
by midnight (GMT) Thursday 7th March, words
and winners posted Friday 8th
Usual rules: 100 words maximum
(excluding title) of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above
in the genres of horror, fantasy, science fiction or noir. Serialised fiction
is, as always, welcome. All variants and uses of the words and stems are fine.
Feel free to post links to your stories on Twitter or Facebook or whichever
social media you prefer.
So many brilliant entries for last week. I went back for a re-read. 'Furrow' is indeed excellent Sandra. All the submissions are continuously a cracking read so well done John, for being the top pick of this week and Patricia too for gaining the runner up position.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sandra for your kind words about my entries. I do, however, disagree with your wisdom as I would have chosen Temptation as the clear winner. But we all know how you are, so I accept the accolades.
DeleteJeff here;
DeleteJohn, Patricia, and Zaiure, congrats to you all for your well deserved section. Excellent stories and will you be going to Disney?
Nicely done, John. That was one marvellous tale...and thank you, Sandra, for the Honorable Mention. However, like John, I do wish you wouldn't always take yourself out of the running. May I suggest an "open week" some time soon where we can all vote on our favourite? I believe we've done that before with some rewarding success.
DeletePatricia, thank you, but as I've said before, being read, reading the comments are prize enough for me. But I've a few weekends away booked this year so I'll certainly be opting out of judging at some time. And it's always useful in emergencies.
DeleteCongratulations John, Patricia and Zaiure on your truly interesting stories. VERY nicely done!
DeleteCongratulations to you winning people - incredible reading. Thanks!
DeleteMexican Cutie 2
ReplyDeleteHe awoke, tenuously, cradling his guitar in his own bed. Hadn’t been here in a while. His head swam and he marveled at what a bad shot El Chapo had been. At least eight shots, point blank, and not one found its mark. He remembered the girl, a real looker; how she bashed the kingpin with a lamp. He felt the sting on his arm and there she was, forever emblazoned on his skin. No sense trying to remember in his condition. He admired the indigo lines, the curve of her breast; a roadmap straight to his dick.
Oh! True laugh out loud moment at the final line - thank you John. And thank you also for a second episode.
Delete"...How it got here I haven't a clue." Another well done, enjoyable, and funny story.
DeleteWhat a magnificent follow up. You have such a unique style, John. I always look forward to your entries...and great use of "roadmap," by the way.
Deleteoh this is good, the kind of sharp writing I'm finding in the current crime series I'm enjoying!
DeleteWhat is it they say about gift horses? [Threshold 238]
ReplyDeleteAt least the dark enabled us to harness the high and mighty Wishbone, no easy job with Raven one-armed and I sore enough to feel each brush of cloth. Having done so; Tosca tethered behind and our understanding of the likelihood of death less tenuous than of geography, we didn’t linger.
Our Norse prince had greased the wheels, left open the gate and gifted us food and a blanket each, for which we were grateful. The need for a map would lessen once we got our direction from the rising sun.
Neither of us voiced the question, ‘Why so helpful?’
I was also wondering of the generosity of the Norsemen. It's probably too much to ask you for a peaceful, problem free trip. So I won't bother. It's great how you bring out the personality of the horses.
DeleteThere is a most suspicious undertone to this. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, indeed. Glad to see the horses have come through unscathed.
Deletea quiet passage of the story, welcome for the information conveyed, worrying because no one's been killed, injured, defamed... (LOL)
DeleteShelf Life
ReplyDeleteShe experienced nothing. No emotion. No pain. Never did. How could she, created as she was from circuits, wires, plastics and alloys? And so, they felt no remorse at abandoning her in the wilds...a location which was barely a smudge on the map...when her usefulness became tenuous at best and would soon fizzle altogether.
They did not look back and never saw the droplet of oil that trickled down her metallic cheek.
A drop of oil trickling down her cheek... what a marvelous way to reveal emotion in the robot. Very nice!
DeleteHow well the short, snappy sentences convey the hard-edged lack of sentiment in this piece - very skillful and effective writing.
DeleteLife always finds a way. An excellent story in a small package. As good a writer as I am, I'm always looking up to where I'll be to the stories here.
DeleteThis left me a little hollow, in a good way. I think it was the word 'fizzle' that did it. Isn't there a rule or something that robots cannot injure a human? After being abandoned, I wonder if this one will comply.
ReplyDeleteIsaac Asimov invented the 3 robotic rules, what he would have made of this is anyone's guess. I think the old scientist would have loved it but never admitted it. I am, I think it's so so sad and utterly captivating.
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 50
ReplyDeleteMoloch headed for the small campfire where several beer-flustered gerbils scrambled into action. He jerked the thorn-spiked mat roll roughly to a stop beside the fire-stones.
Visible, in flickering flame-light, spreading bloodstains mapped sticky trails across the mat.
‘Wot yer got there Moloch? Brung us summat t’ eat ‘ave yu?’
Moloch gave a guttural growl. ‘Mine.’
Several sniggers indicated the gerbils guessed Moloch plans.
‘This’un Looks a bit worse fer wear guv.’
More, tenuous, titters trickled into the fire-stained dark.
‘It ain’t moving, wot ever it is, mate.’ One gerbil observed, as he felt the bloody bundle.
Moloch growled again.
Lovely dialogue and use of the prompts. I enjoyed how Moloch had a bit of discorn for the gerbil's. A well done continuation.
Delete" beer-flustered gerbils" - surely these three words never been used in conjunction before, which is just one aspect of your joyful and original writing Terrie - thank you for the weekly treat.
DeleteI too was struck with the beer-flustered gerbils. I also liked the use of flame-light vs firelight. Just another example of the originality of these pieces. I've said it before, but I really dislike this Moloch.
DeleteYour entry, as always, Terrie, is rife with marvelously created phrases: tenuous titters and fire-stained dark to name a couple. You never disappoint us.
DeleteHave to agree with Sandra on the "beer-flustered gerbils" wording. How marvellous is THAT image? The way you infuse the characters with such personality is truly amazing.
Deleterich images carrying the story onward, good stuff, Terrie!
DeleteCongrats John & Patricia! And thank you for the mention. :) Last week flew by!
ReplyDeleteSandra, I love how you combined illustrations with your book. I'm going to have to order a copy. :)
Thank you - hope you enjoy as much as I did creating them.
DeleteEvery Picture Tells A Story
ReplyDeleteThe medics locked the child in a lead lined cell. She screamed and kicked.
In her room they’d discovered the tenuous mapping of her suspected psychic mischief, set out on green Fuzzy Felt boards. Decapitations, amputations, disembowelments - all predicted in fluffy primary colours.
The cleaning crews moved systematically though the ward, disposing of the combusted birthday cake, removing the cadavers and disinfecting the gory stains.
In her cell the petulant child began drawing on the walls with the crayon she’d smuggled beneath her party dress. The corridors hummed with static. Orderlies dropped like flies.
Such a chilling conjunction of childhood with evil - really very well-conveyed.
DeleteDavid, that first line certainly set the tone. This really had some neat little tidbits that kept the tension flowing. Good horror writing.
DeleteThis was deliciously chilling and thrilling. Loved that last line. As John mentioned, this is really good horror writing.
Deletethis is superb horror writing, carefully crafted to bring out the very essence of the evil child.
DeleteLooks like the orderlies messed with the wrong kid. This was very intense from start to finish, David. An utterly great finish!
ReplyDeleteI agree, a foreboding setting from the start. Her pictures are worth more than 1,000 words. Excellent story, David.
ReplyDeleteKursaal (Episode One Hundred Fifty Three) - "Misplaced"
ReplyDeleteAmusement park maps were available at the Ticket Kiosk. They were free but tenuous in terms of navigation. Many attractions were missing from the layout and those that appeared were rarely in designated locations.
It was felt, however, that the handouts had a saving grace -- a coupon entitling the bearer to be escorted to a more recognizable area should said bearer become lost.
Unfortunately, effectiveness couldn't be gauged. As far as anyone knew, advantage had never been taken of the offer, not even once, and according to the roster of employment duties, no guides had ever been appointed anyway.
---------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale, please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/kursaal.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
---------------------------------------------------------
Yet another cleverly imagined and depicted nuanced scene. You are going from strength to strength, Patricia.
DeleteVery clever, makes one think of the definition of lost. You're on an excellent roll this week.
DeleteAnd yet more intrigue concerning Kursaal. Get your map here ladies and gentlemen, absolutely free, and good luck.
Deletesurely the Kursaal couldn't be mapped anyway but there are always those who hope - the lucky ones are the ones who never managed to get lost!!!
Delete[Change of focus 317]
ReplyDeletePettinger’s hold on his patience felt tenuous as his ability to be cool-headed where Aleks was concerned. As he’d told her, Valdeta was used to living on her wits; lessons from which had undoubtedly been passed on and at ten years old, using only the ‘How to be’ maps he’d been provided with, Aleks combined childish mischief with adult perceptions of man’s duplicitous ability to manipulate and harm. In truth had had a healthier upbringing than his own.
As for Filip and Valdeta. Unlikely, given what he’d witnessed of Filip’s marriage. Nowt to do with him and time he went.
Do I detect a little jealousy between Pettinger and Filip? A complex and intriguing peace. For some reason, I was thinking Aleks was a little older, so thanks for the reminder.
DeleteAleks is such an intriguing character. But then that can be said of every participant in this well-crafted serialization. Episode 317? How have you managed to keep it going so long and still have us hanging on every word?
Deleteserials tend to live in your head, don't they, but even having said that, this is a fine instalment with a killer last line.
DeleteBlogger is having such a game tonight, every entry is accepted to be published and then I am told there is a protocol error, with a Try Again button which brings me straight back... ?????
Meating demand
ReplyDeleteHis bile green jumper badly felted; a map of all he’d eaten since its last too-hot wash. His grasp of table manners as tenuous as that of personal hygiene.
I needed but a glance to summon the maitre d’. Disguising abattoir as greasy spoon one of his cleverer ideas.
I shudder to think of encountering the wearer of the bile green jumper. What a clever color. I looked up abattoir, and I'm glad I did... I think.
DeleteOkay...I officially throw in the towel when it comes to creating a scenario of horror in 50 words or less. How could I ever hope to compare? I don't know the correct definition of what I'm going to describe here, but my arms are extended and I am bowing from the waist in deference.
Deletethis really is superb, as are all the entries this week. I'll battle Blogger all night to read work like this!
DeleteAbattoir as an eatery... so clever, Sandra. And how adroitly you sneaked that in on us.
DeleteThe Secret Armadillo Soldier (SAS) Diaries - entry 50
ReplyDelete(not sure if anyone noticed but I numbered my previous entry above wrongly should have been 49 - this is definitely no 50)
Moloch tried unrolling the mat but the thorn-hooks were deeply embedded and it remained furled. He shook it furiously.
A gerbil with large teeth and felted-fur came forward. ‘‘Ang on guv. Let me elp.
Yu’ need t’ pick out these thorns first.’
A tenuous moan came from within the mat and more blood welled in the spiked holes when the cruel thorns came out. ‘Still alive guv,’ said the gerbil as he worked.
Atlas watched anxiously from the deep shadows and stowed the ceratogaulus horn while he mapped gerbil positions and numbers.
Behind him, the sentries lay with broken necks.
First off congratulations on reaching episode 50. A most enjoyable creation, 50 times over. In both World Wars, the Gurkhas had a interesting reputation as night fighters. Beautifully done setting with some nice tension.
DeleteWhat a relief to know Atlas awaits. He came at just the right time as Arby is definitely going to need help. Very nice.
DeleteWho knew gerbils could be so useful...if only for a brief period of time. Can't wait to see what Atlas has up his sleeve...apart from the ceratogaulus horn, of course.
DeleteThose final two lines - a perfect set-up to ensure we never leave the edge of our seats.
DeleteI'm glad Richard Gere wasn't in this story.
Deleteanother great instalment with a great last line.
DeleteNunc Aut Numquam
ReplyDeleteShe'd mapped out the day well in advance and assembled her outfit with loving care: skirt of hot pink felt appliquéd with a coiffed poodle, knit top, matching scarf of tenuous chiffon...the whole 50s ensemble. Her favourite decade. She'd bought the items for a retro affair advertised at the local dance hall but nobody had asked her to go and she spent the evening alone, listening to Elvis and Buddy Holly.
She hummed to her well-worn recording of "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" and adjusted the gossamer scarf.
She'd mapped out this day well in advance.
Such an interesting title for this story. Will here be more? The scene is well set and prompts well used. Very nice story.
DeletePatricia, such a sad story and so well done. I still have a few goose bumps lingering. Loneliness can be a powerful thing, especially if one is wearing a poodle coiffed skirt. The scarf of tenuous chiffon as aptly described.
DeleteVery poignant, Patricia. I hope she gains solace from Elvis and Buddy Holly. You make us feel right along with her. Well done!
DeleteHad to look up 'Nunc Aut Numquam' then had to read again, to better value the intense sadness skilfully created here.
Deleteyearning loneliness so beautifully (and sadly) expressed. Superb. Tonight's word, but there's no other which will do.
DeleteA Woman Scorned
ReplyDeleteHe'd never have been found without a guide or map to follow. Whoever thought the day would come when she'd be eager to turn him in to the authorities? She had no regret, not at the moment anyway, although she felt sure it was in her future. After all, she did love the man. She just hadn't realized her hold on his affections was so tenuous.
He was in total disbelief as they led him away but she simply tossed her pretty head. That would teach Robin Hood to dally with the new serving wench at the Blue Boar Inn.
Yes, dallying will get one in trouble, that's for sure. I'm sure Robin will be kicking himself for bonking the wench instead of Marion.
DeleteMaybe Marion needs to up her game a bit, though I'm sure Robin is too haughty to believe she'd rat him out. A novel spin on the Robin/Marion romance, Patricia
DeleteJust so long as she doesn't trade up to the Sheriff of Nottingham! Or corrupt Friar Tuck.
Deletebrilliant new look at the old tale!
DeleteAlas, poor Robin. She knew him well. A nice twist on a classic and well written.
ReplyDeleteSquatter’s Rites-20
ReplyDeleteI’d retired. Mapped my escape from LA to become a part-time judge. No more media frenzy trials. Why me?
“Ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to reach a decision. It’s been a tenuous three weeks. The ruling of this court is:
The house and all contents belong to Mr. Plumber. Mr. Minor is a permanent resident. The house must be restored to original condition. Neither may do anything to hinder the other. Mr. Cheveyo, you will return the property your client gave you as payment. Mr Plumber will then pay you in cash, your fee.”
The ruling seems just, I think. Poor Mr. Plumber, though, has his work cut out for him.
DeleteSometimes ruling are easier handed down than they are to actually carry out. I have a feeling this could be one of them.
DeleteI think more storm clouds may be gathering on the horizon.
DeleteUnexpected Opportunity 9
ReplyDeleteJack woke up.
I feel like shit. Better map my situation. Room's about 15 feet diameter, no doors or windows. There’s subdued ceiling light. I’m not restrained. Not an overly tenuous predicament.
He stood up. “Hello?” the seconds seemed like minutes.
I'm an idiot! Man's first words with alien life and I say’ Hello’.
“My name is Jack Armsford, I come in peace.”
“Greetings Jack Armsford, we're glad you come with no harmful intent Are you feeling good?”
“I feel like a truck hit me. I’m tingly, my muscles hurt and I have a headache, otherwise I'm fine.”
I can see jack slapping his forehead after his first word seemed lacking considering the situation. This was a good piece, telling us what we need to hear for now. Looking forward to more of this exchange.
DeleteThis entry makes one wonder who the threat is - Jack or the aliens.
DeleteA well-crafted piece, Jeffrey!
"I come in peace." Oh dear, that greeting never seems to result in anything good.
DeleteI ‘ M... F I N E
ReplyDeleteI felt the soft, fuzzy surface under my fingers, and a shudder of pure sexual desire rocketed through my loins and out the top of my head. I’m sure that some other man, even a normal one, would have had a similar reaction, but mine was unique.
I have known of my own peculiarities since I was quite young, mapped by self-education and much reading. I keep my thoughts to myself, after tenuous conversations with my Mother.
I myself knew I was doing no wrong, but I still maintained a façade, better to save the disgusted looks and wide-eyed whispers.
I'm anxious to hear what turns this guy on. Or maybe not. Intriguing and well done, Dave.
DeleteWhat two consenting adults do is fine to me. I to am curious as to his fetishes. Good story Dave.
DeleteThank you Jeffrey and John. I suspect his predilections are neither, sadly.
DeleteI would really love to know more about this character. You have given us just enough to heighten our interest and inspired a desire to find out so much more. Magnificent writing.
DeletePersonally, I'll all for privacy. There's too much show and tell in the world so far as I'm concerned he's welcome ... so long as he's not harming anyone else. Which doesn't necessarily sound the case. Love the 'tenuous conversations' .
Deleteintriguing, what's going on here and should we really know about it?
DeleteI am considering letting my little pro-antagonist live yet another week, just to see what happens, since I don't have any idea...
DeleteUnanticipated
ReplyDeleteHe wasn’t the first I’d felt attempting to map the scatter of freckled constellations on my back. Nor to attempt to name them.
The first perhaps to take a fine-pointed sable watercolour brush, squeeze burnt umber from a half-used tube and tenuously connect them. To repeatedly photograph then wipe lines clean while I dozed in summer sunshine.
Only when satisfied with what he’d wrought did he indelibly fine-line them, bidding me lie unmoving.
And he was certainly both first and last to produce a shiny-bladed scalpel. To begin to score each inked-in line.
To scream when blood began to run.
Please see my comments above regarding Meating Demand and then simply revise to include a higher word count. Thank you...that is all!
Deletenastiness personified - beautifully
DeleteThis was kind of sensuous and horrifying at the same time. Who wouldn't enjoy the tracings on ones back in the summer sun? And the painting would likely feel good too, but then the scalpel comes out...
ReplyDeleteTables Turned
ReplyDeleteThe new employee stared at the night manager, her green mascara eyes narrowed.
“What are you gawking at dipshit?” the manager said. “Get in there and clean it up.”
She’d seen it earlier, a veritable scat map on the wall. It was a tenuous situation she felt had no clear resolution.
“I’m here to stock shelves,” a deadpan remark.
“Well, now you’re on shit patrol.”
While she stood over him, blood still dripping from her knife, the fevered manager wiped the walls with a reeking sponge with one hand and held his spilling intestines in place with the other.
That manager should check resumes more carefully. Your last sentence caught me off guard, but it was perfect! Nicely done, John!
DeleteCertainly did not expect this, but I do expect such a ghoulish tale to come from your talented plume so in that respect, twas no surprise. Where DO you get your ideas from? And how do I go about pilfering some of them?
DeleteI take it this night manager wasn't Tom Hiddleston? Thought not. All the more power to her ... er ... elbow?
Deleteoh, caught me out too with that last line - a real shocker
DeleteThis is a macabre twist on cleaning up your own mess. Horrifically well written. Be nice to know what happened before this scene. Your stories also have me looking up.
ReplyDeleteDIFFERENT TYPES
ReplyDelete“You need a map?” Her eyes shifted toward the bed.
She easily was the ugliest one thus far. I smiled, shook my head. “No.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Why?” I chuckled. “Because I‘m going to kill you. It’s what I do to your type.”
She chuckled. “That so?”
I felt the heat from her eyes, and confidence in my plan grew tenuous.
“Time to act,” I told myself. I drew the knife from my belt.
She chuckled again then pulled a pistol from behind her back. She pressed it against my temple.
“This is what I do to your type.”
One phrase leaps immediately to mind. YOU GO, GIRL!!! Serve him right for attempting to categorize degrees of ugliness.
DeleteTables turned... love it.
Deleteoh yes, wonderful stand-off!
DeleteIs it just me, or does anyone else have little or no idea where their serializations might be heading?
ReplyDeleteNope, it's me too, always. Entirely prompt-led. Same as with my novels, especially the earlier ones. Which, when I read others' accounts of being driven by the need to explore some theme, can sometimes make me feel shallow. But I get over it!
DeleteI can't seem to string together more than a few stories featuring the same characters. I admire you serial writers.
DeletePatricia, the two I’m doing now have an ending. Based on the prompts, 2-3 weeks.
DeleteI’m grateful for being able to be part of this group. Reading all of your stories has helped, though some might argue that. I rush too much and forget to follow the process. This is a good collection of excellent writers. I try my best and I am a good writer just not quite good enough, yet. Thank you all for allowing me into your group.
I have no idea where Rosebud is going, up until a year? ago, I didn't even write linearly. I doubt Rosebud will ever have a coherent plot, but who knows. From my perspective you all seem to have plans, which is impressive!
DeleteCripplegate Junction/Part 179 - Reflections
ReplyDeleteClive Bailey felt his grip on reality become increasingly fragile with the passage of time. Even time itself seemed tenuous. He looked out onto the Junction platform, recently milling with waiting passengers, now empty and silent and somehow desolate.
A London Underground map was displayed above the carriage window. It listed stations Clive knew to be no longer in use: York Road, Down Street, Hounslow Town and British Museum.
"Come away, Clive. There's nothing to see."
Without turning, he dug balled-up fists into his pockets and did as he was told. A dark scowl crossed his sullen little face.
"Yes, Mother."
---------------------------------------------------------
To read the earlier installments (a suggestion only) which led to this point in the tale please visit:
http://www.novareinna.com/cripplegate.html
A link to return to "The Prediction" can be found on the site. Thank you.
----------------------------------------------------------
Oh. I'm scared. Poor Clive appears to be losing his marbles.
DeleteSo much intrigue at the Junction. This almost hinted at time travel, with Clive suddenly seeing a junction either from the past or another dimension.
DeleteClive is an interesting character, he's not entirely as biddable as he seems... awaiting further instalments starring this one, Patricia.
DeleteSomething untoward seems to be brewing in young Clive's mind. I'm anxious to see where this leads, Patricia.
ReplyDeleteStop The Week, I Want To Get Off (37)
ReplyDeleteLife seems slow, it’s felt like every day is 48 hours long which means my hold on rational thought is somewhat tenuous at times. Good things have come in, a batch of maps of shipwrecks off the Isle of Wight, beautifully drawn, incredible detail. Different, interesting, we’re going to try framing them for sale – when life settles down a bit, that is. Here at home, I am delighted to have a flood of items for my magazine, ranging from good spirit communications to snippets of thought, poems and quotations. An editor’s dream. And it’s cold again!
Doesn't sound to have been too exhausting or challenging a week Antonia, for which much thanks, no doubt.
DeleteAnother fascinating glimpse into your delightful daily life. If your contributors who frequent this forum are anything to go by, I'm not surprised you a feast of submissions to sift through and enjoy.
DeleteJeff here at work. Life’s relaxing moments are beautiful to enjoy.
DeleteHappy for you and Shaun.
The Mad Italian 96
ReplyDeleteI see one thing emerging all the time from your politicians – apologies for this statement, that word, that action… it has felt as if they are all suddenly no longer in control of their tongues. Their hold on reality is tenuous as it is, this makes it worse. Think first, map your speech, watch for that which will trip you up, race, religious divide, gender… so many potholes for them to fall into.
Meantime the date for Brexit closes in on them and there is one mad scrabble to concoct some kind of agreement. I doubt it will work.
Ah, Leonardo. So wise, so knowledgeable, so intuitive. Such a pity nobody takes the time to listen.
DeleteHe makes speaking like writing. Actually, it is. Don’t rush, proper enunciation. A heart felt truth for me this week. Thanks so much for these, both of you.
DeleteThe Adventures of Rosebud, Pirate Princess #169
ReplyDeleteIllusory Inanimance
Safe within stone walls, Teddy found a map. It seemed to have a tenuous grasp of reality, the cellars ought only have 3 doors, not five.
“Rosebud, look at this. Did you know this was the Nightingale's castle?”
“Are you sure-wait a second! Grandma Silbhe told me there was a special castle! But I’ve explored every inch of this place. The cellar has always had three doors and there’s definitely a courtyard where that suite would be.”
“Where’d that door go? We just came from there. It’s where the map was.”
“Where’d this felted map table come from?”
Your writing always has such a "fantastical" feel to it, full of whimsy and good old fashioned fairy tale atmosphere. Constantly a pleasure.
DeleteLove the intricacies of maps, especially when handled by Teddy.
Delete