All in a day's work

They hovered around the sickly fire like three little moths. She could feel the evening chill settle down on her rickety bones. Spitefully, she poked at the fire. They should have been sleeping in warm beds, at some comfortable retirement home in the country, right now. In one of those nice blue room, with crispy green curtains; a crackling fire by the side, and fresh yellow flowers. But instead, here they were, crouching in a dingy cave, waiting for some stuck-up fart. It never works out like you plan it, does it? A noise outside broke her stream of thought. So, he was here. The gullible twat. She stood up, creaking all the way. She dusted her dress, and headed out. “Come on girls,” she called, “let’s get this over with. Double double, toil and trouble …”

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