He does push-ups every hour. Four reps of 25. I’m not sure if that’s impressive or not. I’m not sure if he’s trying to impress me.
“I’ve got a Mustang,” he says. “’82. 3.3 inline 6 cylinder. GT. My brother has it. For now.”
She freed the top two buttons on her shirt and pulled a necklace out of her handbag. The mirror told her that her roots were dangerously creeping in on the verge between sexy and stripy.
She could fly through Name,Date of Birth, Address. Email and Daytime Telephone were child’s play, Emergency Contact was a breeze. But as soon as she hit Occupation the pen hovered above the page. To write N/A would be too easy. And it wasn’t true.