"Alright," she sighed, taking a seat at her laptop with a bottle of the forbidden whiskey in her hand.  She set it down and cracked her neck, then stretched her knuckles and popped their joints, too, with a sly smirk across her red lips.  "Goodbye, Monica Trombell," she whispered to herself, opening up her email. "And hello, Miss Mara."  

"Dear Miss Mara," Letter #1 read...well, like they all did.  She smiled and popped open the bottle of her hidden desire, and once the POP of her Crown Royal echoed in her rat hole of an office in the tiny shack she called home, she was ready to let all of her troubles slip away with a couple of swigs.  She hoisted the bottle up to her mouth as her contact-lensed brown eyes scanned the letter.  Blah blah sister, blah blah annoying, blah blah SHIT!  

The slamming of a car door and muffled cussing snapped her attention away from the young girl's problems, and made her refocus on Gunther.  He was home, and she was suddenly feeling very, very ill... 

The End

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