“Jim, pull over,” Joyce shouted as if Jim was away in a field and not at the wheel beside her.
Jim ignored her and drove on.
“Turn around, turn around,” she demanded, grown aggressively agitated.
Jim sighed. “I’ll turn if and when I find a place for turning. These country roads aren’t made for driving. And what’s the fuss with you anyway?”
“That sign back there… didn’t you see it?”
“Sure, there’s a stately house up ahead.”
“No. PROPER milk. We haven’t had proper milk since the Greys landed and did those foul things to the cows.”
97 words written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge.