Twoa said, obviously still in my brain. "It was my pheromones," she said defensively. I looked up at her; she was sniffing herself. She looked down at me. "Okay, maybe it wasn’t ALL the pheromones," she admitted. "Nobody makes a good deodorant for superheroes.
John Zakour, The Flaxen Femme Fatale
comedy, humor, sci-fi