And now… your Six Sentence Sunday fix. You’re welcome.
Angelina Columbia resisted the urge to scowl. Forty kronars was an insult and the short, stubby merchant with the gun barrels for arms knew it. As she considered her next offer, a stiff breeze blew, carrying with it the scents of the bazaar. Heady scents of strangely roasted meats, odd spices, foreign, alien and other unwashed bodies in too close proximity.
–Angel and the Deadman, © Michelle Miles, 2012