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Title: Spring Cleaning
Setting: Caddy and Carly's apartment
Log Cast:
Caddy
Carly
Trace
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Caddy is in the process of...cleaning. Amazing, I know. She actually can do it! A broom and vaccuum and some other random supplies are laying on the couch, left for the moment. At present, she's trying to jam the window shut, so everything doesn't get soaked from the cold rain sprinkling in from outside. It's hard - the frame is sticking or something and she's having a hard time with it.
Carly strays out of the bedroom sleepily, but not sleep-walking, mind you. It must of been her nightmares because she's awake now as one can see. The girl shuffles out, fully dressed in her regular clothing and not planning to hit the hay any time soon again. She yawns, leaning her lissome body against the doorframe to catch herself. Still drowsy and trying to adjust, not knowing where she's going from the perspective of a blind person.
Enter the wayward bluecap. Who knows where he and his fuzzy-headed buddy have been this past few days; while their stuff's been here, the boys themselves have not -- not for a few days now. He slips in cautiously, with the demeanor of one wondering about his own continued welcome. A tentative smile touches his lips as he sees the two girls. Or at least one of the two girls, because the other one is clearly a pod-person. Caddy? Clean? "Um. Hey."
WHAM! The window slides shut unexpectedly as Caddy continues to press her insignificant weight on it. Wonder the glass doesn't shatter. The impact sends the redhead recoiling back a little, surprised expression on her face. "Trace?" Was that Trace? She pokes her head to look out the window pane, but all she can see is misty moisture. But she heard....something..."Oh, Trace!" Inside! Green eyes find the bluecap as she turns. Gotta let this sink in for a moment. "Oh, hey Trace," is all she offers, with a smile, before she turns to Carly. "Hey Carly." Hey, hey everyone. She disentangles herself from the window easily, wandering over to the cleaning supplies on the couch. Caddy with a broom - beware.
Carly cracks an eyelid open at the motioned sound of the door opening. Why, its Trace. No this absense isn't any surprise to Carly. She didn't know you even lived here for two weeks. The girl just can't put two and two together. Agile girl pushes off the frame of the door in an easy sweep, meandering fully into the room. "Hiya Trace," she begins. Of course, Carly is a bit short on words because she follows the bluecap's glance to Caddy. The hell? Girl, you wouldn't know what a vaccuum was if I spelled it out for you. "Whoa, Cads! Y'feeling well? Lemme take yer temperature."
Trace giggles as Caddy spooks herself with the window. "Hey." Who needs conversation? We'll just hey at eachother for this scene. Naw. The boy pads further into the room, canvas bag slung over his shoulder as usual, but now he drops it unceremoniously next to the air mattress he and Jason share. "Sorry I been gone. Been kinda..." A shrug. "Distracted. Um." He tips his head to the side a bit to regard Caddy again, before looking to Carly and nodding a little. "I know *I'm* concerned." A grin curls at his lips. "So what you guys been up to? Sides gettin all.. productive and shit."
Very funny. Very, veeeeerryy funny. Can't a chick clean up her apartment without everyone jumping down her throat? And besides - she .must. be doing this for a reason. But why? Oh, the redhead works in mysterious ways. "Get outta here," Caddy murmurs to Carly, swatting at her playfully. The girl doesn't really need slack jawed gawkers staring. Buy a ticket or something. "Yeah, I figured...." she mutters to Trace, grasping a broom. Funyn the way she sweeps - real awkward strokes, like a kid just learning. "I was kinda worried 'bout ya." And that's all she says about that. "We...uhh...been hangin' out." A glance is thrown at Carly, eyebrow raised. Right? Just hanging out.
Carly can't take the blame for being productive. She enjoys being lazy and watching Caddy pick up for her. All the glory. But its not /just/ her. I mean, I'm sure the stupid cat pukes on the floor every once in awhile. Or maybe that's just Caddy when she's completely smashed. The little girl comes around to stand by Trace. Hey there, she seems to say, but in fact doesn't say anything. Carly squeals for help as Caddy beats her. Er, swats her. "Um. We been doing nothing 'cept hanging out," the kid agrees.
"Yeah. Um, me too, I guess," Trace agrees. Uh-huh. Nothing at all been going on to make the boy abandon his stuff here for days. "Caddy!" This is said as though he's just now remembered something important, and now he digs about inside his canvas satchel, rummaging about until he comes up with... money. One bill, actually, which is handed to Caddy with a spreading grin. "Rent!" Big ole' hundred dollar bill. You come across those all the time when you've just been 'hanging out'. Honest.
Ahh, yes. Caddy's house, where hanging out reigns supreme. The Slacker Pad, if you will. The redhead sweeps up all the dust and pot seeds and whatever the hell else is on the wooden floor, concentrating until she has one neat little pile. Gee, it was taxing, too. She's almost sweating profusely. "What?" Green eyes get distracted from gazing proudly at her pile to look at the offered money. "Trace," she begins, shaking her head. "I don't need yer money. I mean...I don't -want- your money. I've...damn..." A look is thrown over at Carly, perplexed. Something is going on. This sudden shower of money. "I mean, I...you haven't even -been- here. And I've been gettin' money from...stuff." Yes, stuff. "Jus' keep it, fer you. It's fer you."
Carly goggles her eyes at the hundred dollar bill. We be rich as hell. Rent? Posh! We should go celebrate being rich and in turn use all of our money and once again be poor. Another one of Carly's brilliant ideas. She won't take all the credit for her genius. "We got a bunch o'money in th' mail. Dunno who s'from, but we got an idea," she announces. Carly returns that awkwardly baffled expression to her sister. She hasn't got a damn clue. Suddenly they're recieving money in the mail and now Trace brings back a little green treasure? What's up with that?
Trace blinks, looking between the two girls. "Money in the mail?" That kinda rocks. He blooms into a grin and wonders, "So who's sendin' it, if you got an idea? Yer folks find out where ya stayin' or somethin?" He shrugs and stuffs the bill back into a pocket. "I got lots, anyway. I saw an old friend I helped out once, who kinda owed me some money and I turned it down at the time, right? But now that I'm all back out on my own and shit, not parta Walker and Ben's family, I figgured I kinda been in need of some support so I jest asked and they gived me what they was gonna from before." See? No criminal activity brought in this windfall.. Just falling back on an old debt.
[WWOZ] Music begins playing on the radio as soon as the last Jazz tune finishes its playthrough. "And now, its time to bring to you, Father Alvin's Sunday Afternoon Message." This is followed by a new musical piece, one which sounds 'religious'.
[WWOZ] Father Alvin clears his throat a little and he says, "Thank you, Jacob." The music ends and then Father Alvin's voice comes on again, "Hello and welcome, listeners of New Orleans. Thank you for joining me this Sunday afternoon to listen to what I have to say. Some of you may be Catholic and even attend the church where I work but some of you may not. Regardless of your faith, you are all welcome to listen today and to reflect on the words I share with you."
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "Today's topic is one of great importance, I think, not just because of the recent happenings within the city or even because it has taken on popular social relevance but because its something every person should try to have in order to enjoy a fuller, richer life. In a word, I am talking about Tolerance."
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "In our world, people find themselves adrift in a sea of information and entertainment. People sometimes find that they are lost or even under seige by the world around them. And as a response, they identify themselves with a group to which they feel they should belong. This might be a religious group, an ethnic group or even a political group. They come together to enjoy a shared identity but alas, all too often, this means that people tend to close their eyes to those outside of their group. They lose that all important understanding that no matter what affiliations we might have, we are /all/ human beings together. On this planet, in this city. Living and working. Instead, they grow to dislike the other 'groups' of people. Either because of their own experiences or what they have been told."
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "As a result, people begin to dislike or even hate the other groups. For race. Religion. Political beliefs or even sexual orientation. Rather then to try to understand and accept the others, they shut them out. They close them down. Because he is black. Because she is Jewish. I want nothing to do with them. Without Tolerance, you lose access to so many other wonderful worlds which can be found in those around you. You don't have to like everyone but you should try to understand and accept them."
Yeah, our parents....Or the government...." The government was one of the speculations they talked about. Which is morbidly funny, if you think about it. Caddy getting checks meant for meant for an invalid. "But it was probably our parents." A faint warning look gets shot over to Carly. Our parents. Right? Then she turns back to sweeping, busying herself with creating another pile, one ear cocked at the radio. The girl obviously isn't religious - but she kind of digs the message. So no mocking or comment on her part.
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "While this message is always of social signifigance, it is motivated by the hate related crimes which have become part of the news more and more of late. When people commit crimes of hatred against one another, the y are steadily poisoning the community in which they live. And they violate the message of Christ, which is to love thy neighbour. If you can not be moved to love your neighbour, then accept them. You do not have to live or believe the way they do but you should be able to accept their right to live and believe as they do. Tolerance. Show some tolerance and receive some in return. You might have a better life for it."
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "Now, I have instructed Jacob that we may take one or two telephone calls. Since the time we have left is not very considerable, please try to be to the point and if an answer is required, I will try to give one as fully as possible."
Carly winces at Caddy's warning look. She doesn't want to be beaten. Smart girl goes, "Yep. One o'them." Not her speculations, but hey. Like the government freaking cares. They aren't on welfare. I don't see their welfare paying for the freaking viagra. Nope. Where's the love, people? Where the love? Yeah, she's got an open ear for the radio. You can tell because she is half-listening to that and half-listening to ya'll. Carly not standing around all day. She takes a curb at the window seat, seeing that the couch is high toe in shit. Like a vaccuum and whatever.
[WWOZ] A caller asks, "Father, I'm a gay man working in a position of some influence, and my lifestyle has been call ed into question by co-workers and others. How would you suggest someone in this position respond to these intolerant messages?"
Gee, thanks guys. Just hint about your money and then fib about it. But Trace isn't offended. Actually he has no clue. Parents, sure. Actually the radio's got his ear now too. Has ever since the guy announced 'Tolerance' being today's message of the day. He moves over to the radio and takes a seat near it, one hand reaching up to absently twist at one of his dreds with his fingers. (alas, they be braids no longer.) "Not the kinda thing you'd spect t'hear from a church guy, y'know...?" Well, unless it's The Church. That's different. "Kinda cool. But... whoa. He freezes. "Oh my god," he murmurs. Then, with more excitement, looking at the radio with baffled puzzlement -- "That's Ben!!"
[WWOZ] Father Alvin chuckles drily and he says, "While this is not an advice line, I would suggest that you poli tely inform them that how you live was none of their business if it was not hurting your ability to perform your job."
Caddy raises an eyebrow, abadoning her sweeping to wander over by Trace. Eyes are affixed on the radio as she cants a head, mouth smiling a little. "Ben," she mutters, neutrally. One of her favorite people, yeah. The redhead folds her arms, lips pursed, as she listens. "That was kinda harsh of him to say....." she murmurs, at the 'not an advice line' bit.
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "Well then, I want to thank everyone for listening to me today."
[WWOZ] A female caller says with a trace of annoyance, "You know Father, you preaching is all well and good, but where do it really get us? You can beg till yer blue in da face, but it ain' gonna change de way folks think one lil bit. Tolerance you say? I onla got one intolerance, and dat's for de Church what tole momma she done had to do her wifely duty, while at de same tahm were against de rools and regulations to take birf control."
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "Sometimes the word of God is interpreted in ways which can bring pain or trouble to others without intending. The men and women who serve God's will are not perfect. Only God is perfect. Next caller please?
[WWOZ] The next caller is also a female. "I find it ironic that a clergyman from one of the most legendary organizations for the practice of -intolerance-, if not a history of downright brutality against some of the peoples you yourself mentioned, gays and Jews specifically, should lecture on the import of tolerance in today's society. Comment?
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "You answered your own statement. There is no irony in it at all. Next caller?"
[WWOZ] Father Alvin says "That was the last of our callers. I want to thank all of you again for listening. For those of you who wanted to criticise me or the Church to those who called with questions or for advice. This is how it begins. This is how Tolerance occurs. I listened to what you had to say. You listened to what I had to say. If you can take the time to do this with others, you'll notice an improvement in the world around you. It is hard work but worth the effort. Imagine a world where we can live together without hearing the words of hatred spoken anymore. A dream? Perhaps. But then, perhaps some dreams are worth working for. Thank you and have a very good Sunday. God bless you all, may you find peace and happiness."
Carly is quiet for a bit while she listens to the radio, curled up on the window seat. Her brows lift at the mention of Ben. She's met him like once and that was all. So she can't exactly place an opinion on him. As the show finally ends, the girl stands up to go turn off the radio. "That was interesting," she says offhandedly.
Trace nods a little at Caddy's comment, but doesn't add his two cents. Not until the brief program is over does he finally look back up and speak. A little shrug and he admits, "I thought it was alright. I mean, it's kinda weird a Catholic priest would say all that stuff... But maybe not. I met that guy. We had cookies, and tea, but I didn' drink no tea coz it's gross. It weren't so bad though...He never once tried t'push God on me or nothin'." The little artist blushes a little, glancing down with a somewhat chagrined smile as he admits, "I was there to light a candle for my favorite saint. There's this one Bat taught me about... He's cool."
"Yeah, he seems okay...." Caddy murmurs, leaving her post by the radio. Eyes examine the two piles of junk on the floor. How is she supposed to get these up? "Really? Wow...priests usually ain't like that. They're usually assholes." Her own personal opinion from being dragged to Catholic mass as a child, it seems. "Kind of...critical and whatever." A faintly dark expression crosses her features as she walks over to the door, opening it up. Yep, gonna sweep that junk out in the hall. She's such a good tenant.
Carly didn't think that priests were assholes, they usually just scared her when she went to church. Those white robes. All she knew is they could be from the insane asylem trying to take her away. Not that she's crazy, but they awefully look like it. "Yeah, that guy was sorta different. At least he wasn't talking about how Jesus is our savier an' all that shit." Amen, sister.
"Seriously," Trace mumbles. "Jesus din' never save me. Prolly had a good laugh at a lotta the shit I been through." He looks up, and says less sullenly, "But Saint Jude rocks. Seriously. He's like... the saint who watches over those who ain't nobody else gonna care for. The lost ones. Y'know?" He shrugs a little. "Guess it's stupid. I'm not really too religious at all. I mostly jest go if things're real bad, or I want Saint Jude to look after someone dear t'me."
A wry smile touches Caddy's lips as she sweeps the various dirt that was covering her floor into the hall. "Yea, s'kinda strange to appreciate a saint more 'en you 'preciate Jesus, y'know?" One or two good brushes gets all stuff out into the hall, for someone else to deal with. "But I see whatchyer sayin'. I always kinda liked hearin' 'bout Saint Catherine, 'cos she protects artists. And St. Nicholas....'cos he's for children." She shuts the door carefully back, leaning the broom against the jamb. Someone is gonna knock that over, but she doesn't seem concerned about it.
The silent wonder agrees with a nod or two. You know she'll agree with anything, but this doesn't exactly concern her. I mean, sure, saints and all, but she's never paid much attention to any religious sort of figures. Or really cared, quite honestly. The girl disapeers into the kitchen for a good deal of this talk, returning with three cans of Coke. Hugging them against the crutch of her arms as she tries not to drop them. That might be bad. Those things get real fizzy when ya do that. Coke is okay, right? "Y'guys thirsty?" Maybe she should have asked that before bringing out the drinks, but she took the liberty to do so out of the kindness of her heart. So ya'll just better like it n' stuff.
See, truth is.. "I guess I don't know too much about it," Trace admits quietly, glancing down at his hands, which have gently clasped together. "I know bout the little bit Batiste tole' me, coz he hadda do all that Catholic stuff. I know my dad believed some stuff, but he's goin to Hell coz he kilt himself. My ma said. And I don't think that's fair'a God. An' she say I goin' to Hell coz I ain' respect her 'nuff, and she goin' coz I maked her sin by drivin' her crazy, so I figger it's all a buncha bull to scare people an' control 'em. But... I dunno. Saints is neat. Prolly not real either, but it's nice to light a candle and think okay, somebody hear me maybe, and help me out up there. Or at least look down wit' some symathy." The quiet speech comes to its end as Trace looks up at Carly, smiling a little. "Yeah... Thanks, Carly. S'nice'a you." Then a glance to Caddy, eyes imploring and somewhat embarrassed as he mumbles, "Tell me some about.... about Saint Catherine? Batiste never mentioned her."
Caddy listens quietly as she fiddles with all the junk on the couch, suddenly losing all her enthusiasm for cleaning. So she just plops down among the supplies, causing a faint rattling of bottles to ensue. "Yeah, I know....s'all kinda....redundant and...stupid. Jus' meant ta scare ya inta doin' what yer parents tell ya to, or somethin'." She accepts her beverage readily, flipping the top open with one brittle nail before she answers: "Catherine was this lil' girl who started this convent or somethin', an' had a vision of Christ on Christmas. At least that's what I 'member. But she was real poor, I think....and she loved ta paint. Like, she illuminated manuscripts, or somethin'." Some of the information is most likely confused, because these teachings are buried very far back in Caddy's mind. When she was young and still lived at home. "She wasn't real special, I guess. I jus' liked her 'cos she was an artist, and she was poor....." She shrugs faintly, taking another long slurp of soda. "So...whadda 'bout Jude?"
Carly juggles the cans for a bit and finally sets one down in front of Trace. "Yeah, s'no problem." She needed a drink besides. Wherever Caddy is sitting about, the girl hits next. Holding out a coke to the taller sib, the little girl passes it over. Her turn. She pops open the can, finding somewhere to sit on the couch. Surely the skinny thing can squeeze into a spot. What is all this Saint talk? Carly dunno. Maybe its time to give the television a chance. Is their a Saint Carly? I bet if there were she would be kick-ass. The girl tilts her head back to guzzle down some Coke, off and on catching snips of the conversation.
Trace listens closely to Caddy's words as she talks about Saint Catherine, smiling faintly by the end of it. The pop is opened and hisses softly, and he sips once before murmuring, "That's... really cool. I'll light a candle for her too, next time I go. And I wanna tell Catherine -- like, our friend Catherine -- and see if she knows about her." Well, she probably does. But just to check. "Anyway, um. Saint Jude is a saint desperate souls call upon. He was Jesus' friend or something. But um. He's jest more accepting than Jesus... At that supper thing he asked him why he wouldn' show himself to everybody after he come'd back t'life. And that's all I know, really... Jest that he'll take ya in pretty much no matter what, and love ya. I jest thought it was cool." His shoulders hitch in a tiny shrug, and he takes a longer drink.
"Yea, ya should light one for Saint Nicholas, too. 'Cos he saved some little babies from pickle brine." Whatever that means. Caddy is totally serious, though. Her tongue darts out to lick away beads of sweet soda on her lips before she continues: "Well, like...these three baby boys got murdered and the people put 'em in pickle brine ta hide it? I dunno what brine is -- I guess s'like juice...But anyways, he brought 'em back ta life. Outta the pickle brine." Cool, huh? The redhead shrugs negligently, one shoulder hunching. "Yea, that sounds neat. 'Cos, I dunno...like ya said, even if he isn't like...real or nothin', it gives ya hope ta think that ya'd always have someone ta turn to." She smiles at that, setting her Coke off somewhere out of the way. "But whatever. Ya guys wanna help me clean?" Now .that. is tempting, right?
Carly makes a face at the mention of her participating in cleaning. "I'll pass. M'gonna go use the phone in yer bedroom. Be right back." What? Make a phone call this late at night? Its innocent enough. She hops up from the couch, taking her coke with her into the bedroom.
Trace can't help but giggle at Caddy's story about Saint Nicholas. It shouldn't be funny, kids getting murdered and everything, but it is. Heh. "That's like Santa Claus though. Y'know, ole' Saint Nick? I mean, I'm jest picturin' this jolly ole' fat guy parkin' his reindeer outside an' trompin' in there, pullin' these picklefied kids outta some big vat all like 'There ya go! Good as new, ho ho ho.." He snickers with mirth, but looks up as Carly gets up to make her phonecall, following her curiously with that hazel gaze. "Who she callin', y'think?"
"Oooh yeah," Caddy murmurs, nodding suddenly, gaze serious. "Saint Nick? Yea, Santa Claus." Obviously she never made this connection. Gosh Trace, you're opening up all these new ways of thinking for her. "I guess....I guess that is kinda funny...." she giggles, almost reluctantly. Don't laugh at her story, man. "Oh, prolly Starlight 'er somethin'. I dunno who else she'd wanna call." Yuck. The girl makes a faintly disdainful face as she stands up, plucking at her cleaning supplies. If you don't want to clean, she'll still keep at it.
Trace can't help but laugh at your story! Seriously. Gee, wonder if Saint Nick is watching out for the Slacker Pad denizens? Hope so. Save these kids from the pickle brine? Coz that's about all there is in the fridge, probably. Then again, wasn't it Nash who drank the pickle juice? But his ass was in the hospital last Trace heard, so St. Nick didn't do too much for him. Anyway, the bluecap picks himself up off the floor and stands idly a moment, watching you. And he really isn't too fond of this whole 'cleaning' idea. Place looks alright to him. But y'know, you didn't want his help with rent, so this is the least he can do. He shoves his hands in his pockets and asks with a touch of reluctance in his mumble, "Whatchya want me to do?"
Okay, the general consensus is that cleaning blows. Yes. Caddy whole heatredly agrees, but for some reason she's kinda intent on the whole tidying up idea. Turning over a new leaf? "Like...I dunno....you could...do the dishes." Boy, that was rotten. Sends you into the dark wiles of Anti-Kitchen to scrub yeard old food off Goodwill plates while she probably does something like....polishing the TV screen. 'Cos we all know how important that is. "'Er maybe ya could....fold some clothes. And then do the dishes." The redhead giggles a little, as she swats at you with the rag in hand. Maybe we should getcha a little frilly type apron thing.
Trace gives ya one of those smiles, those tight-lipped, big wide grinning smiles while his eyes flash, message portrayed easily -- a cheery-voiced, 'Yer a bitch!' But that's okay. You been good to him, and all that. Let him sleep here, and Jason too, even if Jason just usually ghosts in here for a whole thirty seconds to do whatever and rush out again, use the shower, whatnot. It's still hospitable. So Trace agrees, "Yeah sure. I'll do yer fuckin' dishes. They're all gross, but I mean, they need done more'n clothes." Coz seriously, you can't fool him. You guys used those dishes when you moved in here, and they been laying there ever since while you guys eat out of the box, drink out of the container, ect. He eyes the heap and wrinkles his nose. Ugh. Where's Batiste when you need him? See, Batiste and Ben, they were the housefairies. Trace and Jason just messed stuff up and had a good time being lazy punks. Aen't you glad you got us?
Yeah, Caddy's kinda a bitch. But you're still doing her dishes. So she drops the drying rag into your hand cheerily with, "Here ya go! Don' splash." Teach you to laugh at her stories, you little punk. The redhead grins before she turns on her heel, wandering into her room for just a second, reappearing with a basketful of clothes. Nice, easy, lazy sorta job.
It's a good thing Trace's gross factor is way low on the scale. I mean, you've been living with him, so you've seen the ketchup/crunched up dorito/white bread burritos he likes so well, and the marshmallow cream he puts on, well, anything. Soon he's got all the crudded up dishes on one side of the sink, and is filling up a lagoon on the other end. Way too much soap is put in, and he does the trick with making a circle with his index finger and thumb and uses that to blow bubbles with the liquid soap for awhile, the kind that pop right away, always either too diluted or too soap-saturated to survive. But finally he starts working on the dishes. There's interludes of play, of course. He spends awhile trying to get this plastic plate to float on the surface with the air trapped beneath it, and then sees how many spoons he can keep on top without sinking it. Record's two and a half. What's with the half a spoon? Well, it was kinda a plastic dairy queen spoon, and he took it off the floor not the sink, but screw you, it counts. Splash, splash... Did we mention there's water all over most of the floor by the sink? Well, there is. Trace is being extra helpful, see. Helping wash the floors too. Ain't that cool of him?
Well, great. While you're in there re-enacting The Battle of the Phillippine Sea or something, Caddy is lounging on the floor, folding clothes at her leisure. Not even really folding them, just kinda bunching them into balls that are compact enough to fit in her dresser drawers. Even the clothes that are too short to be hers (IE Carly's clothes) get the same treatment. And some of the white stuff in the basket has a faint pink tinge. Probably from that red sweater she threw in there at the last second, right? Seperating colors was always kind of a waste of life. After all the stuff has been kinda...rolled up....she sets it gingerly back in the basket, smiling proudly. Redhead has found her calling. Yep. "I hope ya ain't gettin' too much water on the floor." Of course, she knows you are. She can hear the sloshing.
Ohh yeah. You should be one of them laundromat chicks. The ones who read glossy-covered magazines behind the counter and holler out the occasional random 'Don't overload the machines!'. Anyway, Trace has much more worthy pasttimes. Who cares about the Phillippines? This is the Great Sink War of 2002. Cerealbowlia was holding its own until the Earl of Frying Pans decided to ally with the United Plates of America. "Ready the fork missles! AAIIIGGHH! THEY'RE GONNA SINK US!" Sloshing? Nahhh.
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