Jack kilborn SErial blakE crouch

Jack kilborn SErial blakE crouch
thinning hair. another way to disarm the victim. no one
feared grandfatherly types. “until then, if you promise not to
sing any show tunes, you got yourself a ride.”
brett smiled, hefted his pack onto his shoulders, and
followed his ride into the parking lot. Donaldson unlocked
the doors and the kid loaded his pack into the backseat of
Donaldson’s 2006 black honda accord, pausing when he saw
the clear plastic covers on the front seats.
“My dog, neil, usually rides up front with me,”
Donaldson said, shrugging. “i don’t like him messing up the
upholstery.”
brett flashed skepticism until he noticed the picture
taped to the dash: Donaldson and a long-haired dachshund.
“Sheds like crazy,” Donaldson said. “if you buy a dog,
stick with short-haired breeds.”
That was apparently reassurance enough, because brett
climbed in.
Donaldson heaved himself into the driver’s seat, the car
bouncing on its shocks.
“buckle up for safety.” Donaldson resisted the urge to lick
his lips, then released the brake, started the car, and pulled
onto the highway.
The first ten miles were awkward. always were. Strangers
tended to stay strangers. how often did a person initiate
conversation on a plane or while waiting in line? People kept
to themselves. it made them feel safe.
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