Christmas Eve.
Good luck with that, Ned thinks bitterly. It didn’t work for him but hey, maybe the jolly old elf has a soft spot for pop ?
crunch to it, more substance, and if he’s going to make a meal out of it, he should get something he can sink his teeth into. In the frosted glass case, his stares back at him, a skinny ghost in baggy clothes who haunts the ice cream aisle. Disheveled mousy brown hair, dark rimmed glasses, red bow of a mouth where his lips draw together in consternation. Decisions, decisions…
Cratchett heading his way, the words dry up and he has to clear his throat to speak around them. “Bobby. Hey.”
Caribbean
You going home for the holiday?”
Not ever. Even if that man is his old high school crush who lives across the commons from him in the student townhouses
