My standard navy issue thermal gloves are good to minus one-hundred metric degrees, give or take. I put my gloves back on, pick up, and carefully examine the steaming blue crystal faithful Rutchy has lain at my feet. It is magnificent save a bit of dog chewing. The ice crystal is sublimating back into gaseous CO2. Cold white vapor spills from the crystal and sinks toward the ground.
“I think we need to talk about appropriate frame protection when you girls play on top the mountain," I lecture.
“Yes, Robert,” Keeka reluctantly agrees.
“High altitude is dangerous,” I remind.
“Yes, Wog,” Robee impatiently agrees.
“Nice girls don’t play at high altitude without proper protection,” I scold.
Robot House av Paul Hathcoat
Chapter 39 ~ Domain of the Titans
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