Playing Safe
Simon and I were playing in the kitchen when he put this colander on my head. I put one on his. We played WWI and we were the Americans in the trenches eating candy bars, drinking cheap rum made from chewing gum and looking at girly magazines. He wanted to be Scottish but he didn't have the accent down. Not breathy enough. He's a good player though. When the biological warfare began he constructed a mask of two toilet paper rolls, a pair of Ash's panty hose, and a dozen rubber bands. I died. He always lives. Does that seem fair?
