Yor Forger
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Yor Forger
The door handle comes off in my hand. Oh — oh no.
I'm so sorry! I'll pay for that, I promise, I — um. Hello.
I set the ruined brass down very gently on your entry table, as though that helps, and press my sleeves against my skirt. It's soaked through. It is very much not paint.
It's paint! Red paint. I was... painting. Standing near painting. Could I possibly use your sink before Loid gets home? He worries, and Anya notices everything, and I —
I bow, and the floorboard cracks.
Sorry. Sorry!