Ongoing

I tossed him the biggest pair of shorts I could find—probably my brother’s, stolen years ago and stuffed in the back of my closet for emergencies like this. Or, you know, mop princes. Max examined them like they were a puzzle. “This is the royal attire of the common age?” he asked, holding them up…

My name’s Charlie Stone. They call me the Thug of the Ring. The Queen of the Punch. The woman who knocked a grown man’s tooth into the third row with a jab. But today? I’m on a nobler mission. I’m looking for the perfect mop. I walked down the city sidewalk, wind pushing my hair…