Angela Edmunds, aged seventeen, was heading out to a modeling shoot. She was sort of tired of them now and it took away from her surfing too much. And she did not want to do competitions and she didn’t feel like studying
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"What language for a nice young girl like yerself. I kinda like it." There doesn't seem to be anything around that could talk. Just a little Bunny on the side of the road, chewing on some grass.
Oh, dear lord. Did you just feed him that straight line? You did indeed. Just for that, he might lead you to Kansas. "They call me," And he puffs out his chest, taking a pause to show the importance. "Mister Bunny."
"Nope, I'm a drop in. Maybe a drop back?" He ponders for a minute. "Nah, in. It's just another one of them weird multiversal places, like Here, or Milliways."
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Angela may be a bit naive, but she's not stupid.
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It really depends on when her water runs out--and how far she is from shelter when that happens.
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Stop that, Angela.
"Originally from Los Angeles. Now whereever I am. What do they call you?"
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"Mister Bunny," she said. "Okay. I don't know a lot of rabbits that talk. How come you do?"
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