She choked, sneezed, and sneezed again.
What the hell? How could someone forget how to swallow? Humans did it
all day long without even thinking about it. And yet, here she was, choking on
her own spit.
Later, she cussed a blue streak, hopping on one foot after stubbing the
pinkie toe of the other foot on a wall that she passed seventy-leven times a
day. Not a piece of movable furniture. A WALL.
Sardonically, she thought, “That little alien driving my brain better
wake the hell up. He’s doing a shitty job.”
And the tiny alien blanched and wept.
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