“So, naturally, the next choice was a minivan.” “Yep, she called to me from the parking lot of abandoned cars. The sun was shining through her windows like a beacon of hope.” Chubs groaned. “Why are you so weird?” “Because my weird has to be able to cancel out your weird, Lady Cross-stitch.” “At least what I do is considered an art form,” Chubs said. “Yes, in ye olde medieval Europe you would’ve been quite the catch—” “Anyway,” I cut in,
