The work-in-progress meme:

Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven’t gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven’t gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.

See, this is not a well written paragraph, but a meme's a meme. Admire my sense of fair play.



Hermod disliked how light his duffel bag felt as he walked down Centinela Avenue, head bent forward, into the drilling rain. His encounter with the giant had left him swordless, and that left him feeling naked. Not that his sword would do him much good at the moment, when his most formidable opponents were the buses that huffed by, kicking up rooster tails of dirty rain water. Ahead, Winston darted from puddle to puddle, globs of water flying from his wagging tail. A late lunch of two grackles had put him in a particularly chipper mood. Hermod was too troubled to be chipper, pondering what the girl at the pet shop had told him, about the man who'd asked her where to find wolves a few weeks ago. She said he resembled Hermod enough to be his brother. Hermod compiled a mental list of his brothers, of whom there were many.