Got a little writing in today. Here’s a taste. The eagle-eyed among you will be able to figure out for what project this story if being written.
The smells of the old warehouse mingled together to form a sinus-clogging odor that was equal parts rotted, moldy wood, dog urine, and something that reminded her of something she once scrapped off the bottom of an old pair of gardening shoes. Despite all that she managed to resist the urge to sneeze. The compulsion to retch, on the other hand, was not so easily controlled.
Somehow, the thought of throwing up didn’t seem all that serious in the face of her situation. Knowing that trained killers with weapons were pursuing her helped her keep focus. Nita was armed. The .45 looked huge clutched in her demure grip, but appearances can be quite deceptive. Nita Van Sloan was fully capable of handling the weapon.
Happy writing.
Bobby
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