“Ugh my back,” Helen grumbled as she rolled the paint roller up and down the wall. The idea to paint the front of the house had been her idea, but by god was she regretting it now.
“Don’t give up,” Terr said, hovering in mid-air half way up the building. He had a way of always having so much energy about him. Helen, even after all these years, couldn’t work out how he did it.
“I’m trying not to,” Helen remarked. It did look good, their little strip of metal on this god-forsaken spaceport. A brighter colour than the standard matt grey that was painted on all living quarters.
“You still like it?” Terr asked down to Helen.
“Definitely,” she replied.
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