Short shift.
Rev. Nice Super rolled up a couple legal-size sheets of paper and wandered around alternately bopping people with them, playing them like a flute, and singing "I like eggs."
"I'm so glad I'm working with a bunch of adults," I said.
Rev. Nice Super threatened me with his egg-flute-bopper. I was standing inside the bullpen, and (coincidentally) there was a newspaper on the top shelf of the bit I was standing at. I rolled that up and brandished it.
"Now, enough with the violence," Rev. Nice Super said.
"
Writing:
Got 500 words this morning. Slacked off this evening, and read Mac Hall instead. (Bruno and Boots would fit in there, actually...)
