In Which Our Heroine Can't Feel Her Hands

  • May. 17th, 2011 at 6:21 PM
the_wanlorn: The Doubtful Guest (Default)
Man, I do not even understand why spring in New England even exists. It is May, and it has been so warm lately, and this is what the ground in the apple orchard at my parents' looks like right now:

ihni what these are but they are pretty from a distance )

But because it is May it has been raining the past couple days and the temperature is back in the lower fifties. I refuse to give in to the weather's little hissy fit over it being almost summer, so I still have the heat off and all the windows open.

I can see my breath.

But I am going to win and someday it will get warm again, damn it. Hopefully, before my hands freeze off.


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MICHAEL: One evening, a patient was brought into my clinic in the middle of the night. He was tortured so badly I couldn’t believe he was still breathing. A man was with him. It was the man on your radio. I’ll never forget the voice. He put a gun to my head and explained to me that my patient had robbed him and that he wanted me to save him so the pain would last longer. I did what I could. He said to come here for my money — my blood money. There’s a place between life and death. Amazing how long a man can linger there.
PRESCOTT: That’s enough, all right? Okay. Bring everything upstairs. We’re getting out of here. Tony? Tony, can you hear me?
THUG: What the hell is going on?
MICHAEL: I know this guy. He’ll have people outside the bank, in your truck,and on your boat. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.
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