“This is writing, Steve-o. Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t?”

Steve stopped walking, turned full on towards her, and pointed a finger at her. “Did you get laid last night?” He asked.

“What?” She felt her face instantly flush. She hated it when she blushed. Made her feel all stupid and girly. Not a strong woman. (She’d never, ever, spell it ‘womyn’. That was just going too far.)

He smiled. “You did, didn’t you?”

“What? ...