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#staff

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The smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen. The loaves had just come out of the oven.

Trudy cut two thick slices, slathered butter and honey on #top, and handed one to Nevada.

"They call bread 'the #staff of life,'" Trudy said.

"Mfnm," said Nevada. Her mouth was full. When she'd swallowed, she said, "I'd think of it more like the pillow of life. A pillow supports you, like a staff does, but it's softer."

The friends finished their snack, musing on bread and staves.

"Shit, I wrote too much and my tank is on fumes" The writer paced. He called the downstairs, "Get Ms. Turner on the line, PDQ!"
He waited a beat.
"Paige, hey good to hear your voice. Listen, I need to write something for that Wand... Yeah, Wandering Shop Stories." He sat. "No, you're my friend."
Blood drained from the writer's face. "No, I am not treating you like an employee. I don't even need #staff. But c'mon hel..."
The line went dead like his imagination.
The words wouldn't come.
#wss366

The old man hobbled along the path, leaning heavily on his #staff. Two skinny, young men sprang from the bushes and menaced him. The taller one was holding a club, but the shorter, mean-looking one held a saik, with a wicked, curved blade.
"Give us your money, greybeard!" he snarled. (1/3) #wss366