George was huffing back home on his bicycle after an exciting and confusing afternoon with his girlfriend Lisa. As usual, George had spent a few hours at Lisa’s house after school. This had become a routine for them in the past several months. They would talk of the day’s events; who was doing what around
“It’s a pretty good life,” Carrie thought as she stood looking at the rising sun through the kitchen window. She was 23 years old, had graduated from college, married. Both she and her husband Dzsepapper had good jobs. They weren’t rich, but certainly comfortable for a young couple. Dzsepapper was a great guy. He didn’t