This Christmas
It’s December 24th. Christmas Eve.
Ned Matthews stands in the frozen foods aisle of Wal-Mart, the only place still open despite the fact it’s barely five o’clock in the evening. Afternoon really, no matter what the gathering darkness outside has to say. Tinny music blares through the store’s speaker system, some rock mess that’s bothered Ned from the moment he entered the store. Then it was George Michael, bitching about giving his heart away last Christmas; now Britney sings, going on and on about Santa sending her someone to love. Good luck with that, Ned thinks bitterly. It didn’t work for him but hey, maybe the jolly old elf has a soft spot for pop princesses, who knows?
He stares at the ice cream display through the freezer door as if anyone else will really give a s
