The attraction was magnetic.
Mandy loved sexting. She knew that there was something prehistoric about her gender identity. It was like she cast the shadow of a coyote in the evening sun. Coyote would run to the steam to catch fish in its mouth.
Mandy knew there was no such thing as a magical pot of gold at the end of blue-green stripes in the sky.
She frowned when the apple of her eye did not return her affection in a timely manner.
The light was growing dim in the room.
The narrator of the story pulled her off the stage with a long curvy cane.