Who: Herakles, and anyone who cares to walk by What: Buy my stuff. Where: Greg's house. His lawn and driveway, to be exact. When: Tuesday afternoon Warnings: None... yet?
Several tables. Piles of clothes, shoes, CDs, tapes, worn out gym equipment. Differing varities of umbrellas to give them shade. And underneath the biggest umbrella, a little table with a deposit box and a six-pack of Budweiser.
Greg leaned back in his lawn chair, kicking up his feet onto the table, and let out a content sigh. Awwwww yeah. This was the ticket.
He heard a whine down below him and stared down into the pathetic puppy dog eyes of not-exactly-a-puppy dog. Hm. "You want a beer, don't you," he said with a stern frown in Bowser's direction.
The dog said nothing, but continued to stare up at him, as if reminding the god that he held his very furry life in his giant hands.
With a sigh, Greg drained more of his hard-earned beer into the dog's bowl. Fine. Drink, eat, be merry, mangey old mutt. While Bowser lapped his way to a buzz, Greg put his sunglasses on and prepared to doze until he heard footsteps.