She stepped up into the carriage, her nemesis, pimply Paul, holding her hand to steady her as she ascended the two bouncy steps and onto the bench.

Immediately, she began smiling and waving to the crowds.

The horses pulled the carriage through Main Street, and the children went wild, admiring her hair, her sparkling dress.

Her fucking dress. The fabric was so hot, stiff and itchy. She was sweating her ass off and wanted to scream at every one of these people, “GO TO EPCOT!”

As she waved and smiled, she cursed herself for not going into exotic dancing instead.

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I’m experiencing with different writing styles, as long as they all add up to exactly 100 words, and trying a new AI image generator to help keep looking the same around here. I hope that doesn’t steer you away from my words.