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The Betrothal: Or How I Saved Alan Edwards from 40 Years of Hell — Richard Raley
My name is Phineas Farraday.
I'm a writer. Sort of. A starving one at least. Usually I don't write about myself, usually I'm writing about goblins or pirates or . . . okay, I wrote a few romance novels under a pen name to pay the bills, just please don't tell anyone about it!
Not about me, never about me, except THAT time. THAT week in Utah. When my best friend decided to get married in a week to a girl he'd never met and named me his best man. THAT week . . . with a rental car named the Tank that kept trying to kill hobos, couch cushions that kept exploding, repeated punts to my nethers, hippos roaming about unsupervised, and my other friend Tad ravishing the female countryside.
THAT week . . . the week I saved Alan Edwards from 40 years of hell. My story. The story of how I fell in love.
I'm a writer. Sort of. A starving one at least. Usually I don't write about myself, usually I'm writing about goblins or pirates or . . . okay, I wrote a few romance novels under a pen name to pay the bills, just please don't tell anyone about it!
Not about me, never about me, except THAT time. THAT week in Utah. When my best friend decided to get married in a week to a girl he'd never met and named me his best man. THAT week . . . with a rental car named the Tank that kept trying to kill hobos, couch cushions that kept exploding, repeated punts to my nethers, hippos roaming about unsupervised, and my other friend Tad ravishing the female countryside.
THAT week . . . the week I saved Alan Edwards from 40 years of hell. My story. The story of how I fell in love.
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