If you care to play, [writing stories of no more than 55 words] make sure you let the G-Man know.
“I need the photo,” she declared through gritted teeth. It’d been a month already. She had wearied of asking politely. Diplomacy was overrated.
“Huh?” he replied, attention fixed on making chicken salad.
“P-h-o-t-o,” she repeated slowly.
“I’m busy,” he huffed, adding salt.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Group recreation. On my page.”
Aha. Her evil nemesis.