l is for lemon chiffon spacesuits
Relaxing under a light Thulian pink moon, with a nice cold shot of liseran purple, when my camcom went berserk, twerking along the bar.
Must be La Salle Green; my comments turned the air lavender blue. The guy gave me the creeps; “just call me little boy blue,” he’d coo in my ear.
Yah, right. Okay, in certain lights, his skin does have a light cobalt blue tinge, but at 345 years old and weighing in at 365 pounds, he was anything but a little boy, blue or otherwise.
But working for LSG has perks. He never cared if the Limerick was heavier at Liberty International Spaceport after a lumber run from Laurel Green than the manifest weight. Nobody in their right mind is going to crawl through a cargo hold of liver chestnut planks to check out any discrepancies.
Meaning, I could make short shuttle trips to Lapis Lazuli and easily upload lions and lizards ; okay, offloading wasn’t so easy, but slipping the stevedores in bay 7 some lemon curry pops and licorice slicked up the process. And, the exotic pet market was crazy over those friggin’ livid little creatures – really easy to get off my hands, while the mess in the cargo hold not so much.
Okay, so that makes my heart and soul languid lavender. I do have a conscience, well sorta. Anyways, a gal in the outerplanets has to make her way in the world; and the opportunities ain’t great. Used laser lemon huckster or Lincoln green trafficker. Not. Baking lava and lemon meringue pies, forget about it!
Okay, and the other perk: Mrs. LSG’s current boy-toy, Lemon Lime, was real easy on the eyes. And, that lust-bunny was shipping out with me on the next run. Time to break out the lemon chiffon space suit. . .
l is for lemon chiffon spacesuits for a to z challenge