Little Wakka’s ode to Shakespeare. What appears to be a lovely afternoon stroll with Aunt Bebe was actually psychological warfare waged upon my shrew.
I feign engagement in her frivolous conversation.
I even mirror her hand gestures.
Too much talk. I cut her off and enchant her with a hypnotic dance that I learned at a flea market.
Finally, I stare through her eyes, into the cupcake region of her brain, and the spell is cast. Get me my llama, shrew!
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