Big Tobacco was captured and turned into a rug. You will be pleased to know how this came to be, but not surprised.
The 19__ census takers were a bold lot, for it was a time of economic recession, which meant have-nots were forced to wrestle what they'd had back from the the haves in the most menial of ways, while the haves carefully purchased yacht awnings and hired designers to tailor their homes' shadows as well. Census takers that year were stupid automotons who thought they were mavericks. They were the bulemic anorexics who ate an entire chocolate cake, threw it up, drank a fifth of vodka, and thought it was "punk rock". No matter. That's what this country is built on, asshole.
"Oh my," said Vicky softly, into her clavicle. Two black boys at the door? She realized then that Big Tobacco wasn't going to help her through this one. She should have gone with Bo Peep, the boxer, if she wanted protection. Am I getting older, or are they getting younger? 'Black don't crack', she thought-chuckled to herself, recalling an exchange at the Huxtable dinner table she'd never forget.
I'm not answering. I'm not. Who ARE they? What do they want? They look alright for brown people. Why do they call them black if they're brown? Kind of pretty- the one with the sweatshirt, at least. If they were breaking in, they'd break in, wouldn't they? I could offer them some bundt...to be continued...