Anna steps out of her Tercel onto the curb in front of Planned Parenthood to find a 2-year-old smoking a Newport on the front stoop. She knew he was a 2-year-old because he had a T-shirt on that said "2yo and loving it!" Next to the 2yo was a 5-foot easel that read:

Normal bearded guy with signage featuring photos of dismembered 3rd-trimester babies has flu. Young Edwardo here is stand-in. When you look at him please remember that as he chain smokes these Newport 100s he is doing to himself what you are about to do to your unborn child on the other side of those double doors. Also, while I have your attention, Edwardo is from a small village in El Salvador.  His parents were murdered by marauders during their attempt to enter the United States. The marauders adopted him as their own, and that is where he picked up the soul shattering habit of which you are now witnessing him partake. Please help Edwardo get home to his Grandmother by dropping a donation in his cup. All amounts welcome.

The cup was styrofoam and nestled between Edwardo's fat little suntanned legs. He was ashing in it, choosing cup over ground. The marauders had taught him well.

"Abayorshone es mayordor!" Edwardo said through a cloudy exhale as Anna sidestepped past him.

 No more birth-control for me, she thought. This is getting too sad.

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Author guidance for This story

Thanks to AmandaQuirky for her kind revision (a vast improvement) on the Erin chapter.

STH

updated May 20 '11 by SeeThomasHowl