The blasted remnants of the coffee shop smoldered around me.
The waitress was still alive, cowering behind the counter, so my beverage was not on the house. I paid and left.
I whistled. Peso, my trusty steed, whinnied and galloped to the entrance.
There was nothing left for me here. Bethany Ann was dead and the town had paid their dues for what they had done to her.
I climb on the back of my mount, and rode swiftly into the sunset, never to return.
The challenge was to take the top 3
emailed photos on yahoo and create a hopefully amusing story about
the sequence. I reserve the right to refuse a disturbing picture, this includes any pictures of celine dion.
Please feel free to add alternative captions if you can or comments if you can't.
All rights to the photos belong to the companies in brackets beneath them. All text, concepts and layout is copyright Mort 2003-2007.