Gladys was frustrated; the graffiti artist had struck for the third time, and the police would do nothing. “Just stay a little further from the highway and avoid the loading chute,” they said. Spray paint graffiti was bad enough; it would eventually wear off or wash out, but when they used the branding iron, it never went away, and the stink from that burning hair lasted for days. And what if the paparazzi heard about this? . . . . . David, Sf.G.
Like most of his fellow members of Congress, Chuck was more interested in getting reelected than being locked into an ideology that may be controversial. But sometimes, depending on how the wind was blowing, he found it didn’t hurt to stick his neck out and cooperate with the other side. It seemed, though, sending personal, explicit E-mails and photos, even if anatomically correct, should also be avoided. . . . David, Sf.G.
“Life in the Punjab is good,” reflected the girls one morning. “The grass is green, the shade is cool, and McDonald’s only serves Chicken or Veggie burgers” . . . . . David, Sf.G.
Eugenia had not had much success in finding a boyfriend, much less someone to marry, and she was worried that her biological clock was ticking. Speed dating seemed a little over the top, but then she was a little desperate. Her sister had told her the reason she had run off the boys in the past was that she was a little too aggressive, too forward. She promised herself she would keep that in mind. . . . . David, Sf.G.