by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
Herb stopped dead in his tracks in front of the screen. "It sounds Russian," he said. "I won’t use nothin’ that’s Russian."
"It’s not Russian, comrade, it’s just called a kiosk."
"Shh! Woman, you want somebody to hear you talkin’ like that?"
We were trying to check out of our hotel last week, and since there was a line at the checkout