Photo credit (c) Yarnspinnerr
Mitz was feeling fresh with newly dyed-electric-blue spiked hair. Her friends knew better than to call her Michelle. She was a new person. Off to cause mayhem in all four corners of the world, oblivious to the chill in the air.
“What’s this place, do ya’ know, Johnnie?”
Johnnie spit on the ground. “Must be a home for royals,” he answered in his cockney accent.
“No entry? Ha!” Mitz exclaimed. “Let’s go get a lemonade over there and come back when it gets darker.”
“I’m ready!” Johnnie replied.
She tugged his arm. Thirty minutes later, she was refreshed and Johnnie had espresso fuel rocketing through his veins.
They crouched near the first lampost. Mitz stifled a giggle. She grasped Johnnie’s arm, but fell back on the slippery ground.
“Right on your bum, there you go,” a deep voice bellowed.
“Oh, sh–” Mitz spat, then noticed Johnnie running away. “Traitor, you are!”
“Come on, up with you,” the constable grasped her arm, pushing her into the car. Mitz realized the door wouldn’t unlock.
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