PS I Hate You

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 27
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Rog yelled at Cal: “Make sure she stays on the towel!” Sally sat still atop the towel, in the backseat of Rog’s large, tight-spaced car, where she hadn’t so much as twitched a tail for the ten minutes she’d already been there. Only five of those minutes had been spent driving, with the other half consisting of Rog arranging a stick-based boundary around the towel. Here is what was said at that time:

Cal: “Those sticks will make more of a mess than the cat.”

Here is what was happening at this time:

Cal: “The sticks fell on the floor again.”

Rog: “Pick up sticks! Pick them!”

The ridiculousness of the situation obvious, it was unfortunate that a ubiquitous somberness played trump. Cal and Midnight each clutched their most recent notes in their hands, as if they were horrible grenades set to explode upon a fist unclenching. They were not non-horrible grenades. Sally’s stomach grumbled at a pitch slightly above the rest of the caravans'. And Rog’s anger mostly served to distract himself from the task at hand – a task that referred to neither “driving to Geraldine’s” nor “unreasonably keeping the cat but not the sticks off the interior.”

Everybody had accepted the need to acquire food. Everybody had consented to the idea that thievery was the only option left to fulfill that need. Everybody had even reluctantly submitted to the orders that the targeted corporation would not be a corporation at all, but rather the Mom & Pop (archaic) store known as Geraldine’s.

Nobody had accepted the P.S. demand.

It may be recalled that Geraldine hung a memento of her deceased spouse over her store’s entryway. It may be assumed that this is now relevant.

P.S. Take the zeppelin.