I’ve been the organizing force behind a choose your own adventure story with each branch or choice written by a different person. If you’re interested in contributing send me an email. It’ll be a zine and online when it’s done!
“Holy shit, guess who fucking messaged me today”
“Elaine. fucking. Bunter”
“That brainy bitch from psych?”
“With the gloves”
“She’d wear green gloves every day”
“Even in the summer”
“And put her hair in three pony tails”
“Winter gloves in the summer”
“Anyway, get this”
“She’s getting married”
“FUCK! To who? Don’t fucking tell me it’s Jordan Stein”
Where the hell did his gloves go? There was an anathema of things going wrong and things going right. Earlier that day he’d been pulled over for speeding–the third time this week–on account of a wily, suspiciously hard of hearing mechanic who, upon handing our hero a large list of tasks performed or needed to be performed on his truck (brake fluid streamlining? Initial response system upgrade? Flester bolts tightened?) with an exorbitant number at the bottom, seemed a bit too confident exclaiming “She’ll really run now!” and now his speedometer was entirely unpredictable and incorrect, Sean guessing there was maybe some kind of exponential relationship between the wheels and needle with no real way to tell.