by C. A. Lang
“I’m fairly weak. You probably still could.”
“I’m pretending that I couldn’t for your own good.”
“Ah. Denial. Probably the most useful coping mechanism we have. ‘I know very well, but nevertheless...’”
Capra paused, swept the hair out of her eyes, took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll stay here for a while, see what kind of work I can get. Everyone’s probably broke on the continent anyway, right?”
Helverliss clapped and cheered. “That’s my girl! Well, as long as you’re staying... I wonder if you could make me a small loan?”
THE END
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
C. A. Lang is a product of Nelson, British Columbia, and it shows. While meandering through the natural health industry in everything from editing to personal training to sales, he frittered away nearly a decade writing widely, all the while nurturing an unhealthy affair with no less than six guitars. Growing up around Victorian architecture likely had something to do with his appreciation of steampunk, although we're not quite sure why he felt the need to ditch the steam engines and go all internal-combustion on the genre. He has settled in Kelowna, B.C., where sometimes he can be found abusing a gigantic jazz guitar in public, hanging around certain wineries, and running obscene distances just to atone for it all.