“What kind of dog is that?”
“German shepherd.”
“Naah—they don’t come in black.”
“Well, that’s what she is. Recessive gene.”
“Huh? No, she’s a mutt, Lady. You got gypped.”
“Oh, all right—I’ll tell you the truth. She’s an Arcanian Bat Hound.”
“Wow! Really? I’ve never seen one before. Uh—where’d you get her?”
“I had to import her, got special permits and all. Arcania doesn’t export them normally.”
“I bet. Uh—where’s Arcania?”
“Eastern Europe. Tiny country. You’ve never heard of it, right?
“Right.”
“That’s because it’s a shadow state—keeps its existence a secret.”
Adam took his name seriously. He knew he was the first among men. His hairline was eroding faster than the Galveston coastline in his home state of Texas, but he was a sharp dresser and a smooth talker. Ladies loved his drawl.
“Cheryl, do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, and do you promise to love, honor, and cherish him as long as you both shall live?”
It wasn’t that she borrowed the odd punch bowl. To Sharon, the neighborhood was a mall where merchandise was free and returns were rare.