Kooky Lucy Frost

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost"
   
   Way up yonder in Buffalo, where all they had was the resonating pigskin memories of Doug Flutie running the best bootleg in NFL history, plenty of snow, too much really, and some considered it the armpit of the world, but most know that the armpit is actually Cleveland, and kooky Lucy Frost had a Shetland Sheepdog; specifically, a Sheltie named Cleveland, for she liked the Browns over the Bills, having a weird fascination with a wild-hued orange and all its digestive deliciousness concerning abdominal chakras.  
   Lucy Frost was a thirty-something dirty blonde with forest green eyes, so pathetically single, living in a modest apartment complex colored Big Bird yellow, and she was a bag girl at the grocery store, where hand sanitizing was the order of the day, after funky folk that made their own nasal cavity gravy checked out, making her handle the contaminated merchandise; thus, like a metaphorical, phobic cowboy, she always had two bottles of aloe-kissed Purell in each pocket, compulsively cleansing after all the toxic gravy that came in contact with her Levite-lathered hands, and she was't even Jewish, but was well aware that a sneeze can travel thirty feet.  
   She pondered dating, but kissing a guy after a romantic dinner always meant tasting the remnants of his shrimp linguine.  Yeah, Lucy Frost figured life was hopeless, and she was so old school that she carried a pocket watch and never used the Internet, entertaining herself with 1970's Marvel Comics and the occasional jog through her urban geography--her Sheltie dubbed Cleveland loyally at her heels.  He was her best pal.