“We
need to head that way,” he told the grifter, pointing down the intersection to
their right. “Grab the others and get
going!”
The driver of the halted buggy waited the requisite half second before
leaning on his horn and mouthing something that looked like an accusation about
Blade’s mother and a particularly well-endowed unicorn. The wailing of the horn spread like a cough at
a billiards match; by the time Blade had used an ancient hand gesture to
suggest the honking driver self-impregnate himself and then turned back to look
at the wagon, and entire orchestra of horns was playing an improvised but
intense symphony.
(from The Sleeping
Dragon by Jonny Nexus)
.
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