Mason Bronwic sat with his elbows on the table's edge, certain he'd captured the attention of everyone in the breakroom, the same as he always did while spinning his tales. A stocky man of no great height, he took great pride in his ability to design landscapes which would compliment new buildings. His greatest pleasure, since being served with divorce papers, was to belittle the woman he'd once vowed to love and cherish. Speaking with humor in his tone, Mason tried his best to make certain his listening audience would believe Emma was the incarnate of the Wicked Bitch of the West.

He'd tell that she lived in the last house, on a short street, at the edge of a crummy town, at the base of a small wooded mountain, where she poisoned helpless rabbits just for kicks. Her preference was for varmints, instead of standard pets. He'd rattle off at great length about her crooked nose, warts, pendulous boobs and piano leg ankles. He would describe her penchant for making the lives of everyone around her miserable. And this was just the first page in his volume of lies.

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