The professor was on the way.
(I was highly tempted to say, “The professor was on his way,” but I’m not sure I have one.)
I was on the way.
And that’s when the professor’s car just stopped—in the middle of the road.
A whole host of my favorite cussing expressions came to mind:
1. Dadblame this dadblamery!
2. Rats and Heifer!
3. Two and Five Gurgles!
I said all three—in rapid succession.
After the cussing was out of the way, I…did nothing.
I assure you, the professor only sat there for a few minutes (the windows were covered with snow, by this time) when the Veezler suddenly got in the car.
“Having problems?” he asked.
The Veezler laughed. “I love seeing the PL’ers have problems! Do you know why the PL has to pay?”
The professor shook his head.
The Veezler leaned close and licked his lips. “It’s because when I was young, I was left out in a storm just like this. It was cold, and I cried. Nobody would help. That’s why.”
I think I said nothing. And the Veezler left rather abruptly.
The professor tried the car again, and it started.
In truth, the Veezler leaves the professor rattled, you know.
This is a picture of me. I was once stranded on an iceberg. What an adventure.
I’m a bit hard to see, so I circled myself.