still bored, so let's tell a story one sentence at a time

It was an election year.

The rules for the election seemed to be as unsettled and doubtful as the rules for cribbage had become.

Eddie hated acting against styrofoam balls, but here he was again, in a makeup seat on a trailer, awaiting the next layer of latex.

Then, in spite of the odor of fresh latex assaulting his nose, he smelled something that cut past that baseline aroma with an acrid force that staggered him.

Fragrance is like luck:we all want it when we go on a date. Such was the case when the robotic cello appeared.

On another cello, the scents of linseed, beeswax, elemi, rosemary oil, garlic, and dichromate would have been too much.

Fart.

Chris Cornell would sing of days like this.

This was the thought that fleeted through the mind of Miroslav Danilovich, lead singer in a Soundgarden tribute band called Zvuková Záhrada, based in Slovakia but temporarily on tour in Sofia, Bulgaria, as he trudged through the streets searching for a place where he could buy a bottle of slivovitz.

Miroslav may not have looked like much, but he had it where it counts - in his huge fingernails.