The man was downright creepy. His clothes rustled when he walked, probably because they were made from recycled, green plastic bags. Angelina couldn’t fathom what her sister saw in him. And, yeh, he smelled like humus, as if he’d just rolled around in the dirt. Still, she sat in one of his marshmallowy “pod” chairs and asked questions -trying to appear interested in him. Work? Not often. Age? Doesn’t matter. Previously married? Five times.
Drink? No thanks. Snack? Nope.
Where is my sister? She was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.
Oh! I believe she’s out in the garden.
Up From the Ashes 