Annika was getting tired of the confined space of the starship. “Starship! Ha! What a joke! More like staryugo.” She was peeved. The canned atmosphere was playing havoc with the soft flowing curls of her waist length powder-white-blonde hair. He wasn’t easy being mistress to a Space Cowboy. Titanium manicures were expensive and she felt it her duty to continually stay abreast of new and exciting ways to pique his interest. Space Cowboys were fickle as a breed. She really needed to feel terra firma for a while. Maybe she could manipulate him tonight into promising a little mini-vacation at a nice remote beach planet. Enough of the starport bars. Too many space floozies and not enough vodka in the bottle. Same story, different spaceport.

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