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Bile Builds, a Mystery Unfolds
Solomon raised his brows as I trudged into the dining room, bleary-eyed. He was scarfing down an omelet. Bits of cheese clung to his stubble.
And he looked at me critically.
“Well, Callie,” he snickered, “you take the 'beauty' out of beauty sleep.”
“Maybe if you didn't snore like a foghorn, I'd get a bit more rest,” I retorted, wandering into the kitchen to fix myself a bowl of oatmeal. “Did dad already leave? And did he take the comics?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Darn it.”
“And mom?”
“Sleeping, obviously. She'd sleep through the Apocalypse. Wish I was an artist, then I could set my own hours...” he yawned, then gazed at me oddly. “What's that on your shoulder, eh, Callie?”
Groggy, I glanced down at what I was wearing. The usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt.
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