Wendy's arrival home was heralded by loud scraping noises and a vicious cry of "BLEEP!" A few moments later, she staggered out of the elevator.
"Hey, Wendy Watson."
"Hey, Noser." Wendy bowed so that the 6-foot-long, slime-encrusted lobster claw she was lugging on her back looked like it was waving.
"I guess it wasn't a rock."
"No, Noser, it was not."
Wendy staggered into her illegal sublet that she shared with another photogenic young artist and Noser shook his head. With Wendy on the job - whatever that job was - he was never going to eat that lobster dinner of his dreams.