Simon smelled them before he saw them, the heavy, cloying scents of cotton candy and fried onion that couldn't quite mask the underlying must and mildew that came from soft things stored too long in damp places.
"Dang it, Harley," he said, pushing back the heap of mismatched coverlets that couldn't quite keep out the chill of the unheated house. "I said no."
"You said no guns," said Harley, not turning from his place at the window. Firelight danced in his eyes as, miles away, the carnival burned. On the lawn below them, stuffed animals looked up, hopeful and smiling.
Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers( Read more... )