Hit and Run

Good evening, Creeps. It's Mr. E playhouse time. Right? A whistle of framed story. Get and run. It was a quiet night for San Francisco, almost too quiet. The fog drifting in from the Pacific, it hung lazily over the city streets at first.

Then settled down heavily, thicker and thicker, blotting out everything. There was something ominous about it, even to an old San Franciscan-like Hillary gain. And although he wouldn't admit it even to himself, he was wavering.

Mildred's nervousness when he'd stopped by to pick her up made it worse. Here it was, he kept telling himself the moment they both been waiting for, planning for, anticipating for so many months. The moment when she'd make the break with her husband once and for all, pack her bag can go away with filery.

Get something felt wrong somewhere. Maybe it was the fog for the stills. I'll be ready. I put your bags in fact here. Did you leave the note? Yes. You have to be home in a minute.

Probably in a bar somewhere. Come on. Let's go. Oh. Well, what's the matter? I don't know. Oh, now wait a minute. Mildred dish. I have a finger feeling from her. I'm afraid, Hillary. Oh, don't be ridiculous. Afraid of what?

Just in. I don't know. Neither do I. Come on. Come on. Now get in. You better roll up that window. Vlog's beginning to roll in. Now, darling, you just had a case of nerve. No, you're excited.

I don't know. Could you kill something during a half? Something has happened. You've left that no good husband of yours. You've played nursemaid for six years and now it's over. Yes, it's over. Not a way to end it.