Monday, June 19, 2017

1100. Honey

She flicked a dab of honey idly from her index finger as she surveyed the carnage and loose bank notes.
"Now that's a robbery," she observed.
She took a swig of what, from my vantage point, appeared to be gen-u-ine Kentucky bourbon.

With a sharp tug of the same finger, she fired another shotgun round into the bank's plaster ceiling.