Little Victories, and a Little Jimmy

Rather than risk wayward glances, Renard swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up facing away. He could feel her continue to pace, her graceful footfalls transmitted to his bum by a cheap mattress. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he could think this way. Besides, this way she wouldn’t see any additional tics.

“Yoo think I can pass four a Ricardo?”

“Sim…maybe. Mixed parentage?”

“Thet much is true,” Renard chuckled, rubbing his throbbing forehead in disbelief. Could this really be happening? The adventure he’d been dreaming of since those lonely nights when father was away and mother was…indisposed.

“Eh Bonito,” the angel said, plopping down next to him on the bed, bouncing Renard to a standing position, “You can do it no?”

Renard took a few thoughtful steps, smiled, and did his best Jimmy, “I’ve wrestled with reality for several years, and I’m happy, madamoiselle, I finally won out over it.” She seemed to smile in approval, or perhaps pity. Renard could never tell the difference.

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