*looks down at fingertips scraped
raw from a furious attempt at crawling across the Brooklyn Bridge”
Come on! The coast of western Sicily anxiously awaits me and my Pound
guys’ arrival. Doesn’t anybody in New York freaking care?
For months (honestly, it seems like years at this point) a small though
spectacular fishing village hugging a long necklace of sandy coves against its
bosom has been eyeing the horizon for Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed”
series. Little Capo has been making ready its charming harbor forever and I
fear their patience is running thin.
But with only five days left until the novel’s deadline, have Sam and
Brevyn even made it to JFK yet?
Nope.
The last time I saw their troublesome though gorgeous butts was in
Gramercy Park. And let’s just say they were caught up in a lot of “hot and
heavy.” That big old “Do NOT Disturb” sign was welded to their door and no
amount of pounding, begging, cajoling or screaming on my part would get them
headed in the right direction… the right direction would be SICILY!
Frank, my not-so friendly specter of imminent failure, has made himself
quite a nest at the end of my couch at this development. I believe my mother is
now crocheting an afghan for him.
Lola, his freaky parrot (an addition to my mania I really did not
need), is busy rattling off random subway stops from the top of Frank’s fat
head.
My ever loyal and “always looking for a rumble” dog has taken to
shooting spitballs at the stupid bird’s head.
Stupid bird has creepy-good reflexes though and has avoided most of the
barrage. Just my luck to have a particularly limber imaginary parrot, right?
Alright, I’m giving New York City one more day. That’s it.
And if that stupid bird knows what’s good for it, it better start
shutting the heck up...
My dog’s just stomped off into the kitchen muttering something about Molotov
cocktails.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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