This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.
“Eight fifty-five a.m. you say? Why does it seem everyone dies in the early morning? Worse case of jet lag I ever heard of, heh? Mom and dad were stars and that’s a hard way to start off life, right? Had her own problems I hear. Still, sixty is a might young, even for them movie types.”
“Yup, my kind of gal wielding that big blaster pistol, that oh la la revealing metal bikini, and those damn strange hairdos. Not to mention her being a hard ass bitch dealing with that gangster Jabba the Hutt.”
“I love you Lisa.”