"C'est la fucking vie"

CHAPTER THREE
PAGE FIVE

Sanding caused dusty paint to go everywhere and rot to become somewhat obvious, but the day couldn't have been better for it.

After a morning of shopping in town and having countless stares her way and with the burning sun shinning down on her Clementine sanded outside of the building with such vigour that if she was a cartoon there would be steam floating through the air.

The house alive with noise was getting painted, sanded, wallpapered and plumbed.

It was highly likely that if she was to enter the house she'd be hit by the smell of sweat and testosterone.

No one was getting along and the heat certainly wasn't helping.

Alas desperate times call for desperate measures and with a slow opening of the main door she sneaked in to the house and down into the main area to grab a bottle of water.

There stood Wren with Chloe Garcia; the manager of the local newspaper, lips locked and up against the wall.

Coughing on her water Clementine slapped on her chest in desperation of air.
The couple had torn apart.

"Does she need the Heimlich manoeuvre?" Chloe questioned, her questioning gaze fixated on Clementine.

"Y'all right Clemmy?"
Wren, oh Wren.

Breathing became possible yet again and the three stared at each other.
Chloe looking as though it'd had just been exposed to the world she wasn't actually allergic to chocolate.
Oh wait, that was last year.

Sighing loudly Clementine looked towards Wren and raised her finger in his direction.

"Finish this up" she sternly announced.

"Come on Chloe, you gotta leave" Wren says while guiding her out of the building.

Clementine dramatically falls onto the sofa with a sigh.

The four of them were sitting down for a talk tonight and that was indefinite.