The Minutes of Our Last Meeting | The Second Thanksgiving
Squanto - White grubs have crawled into it. William - Those are marshmallows.
Squanto - White grubs have crawled into it. William - Those are marshmallows.
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.