The God of Thunder picks a wedgie. Loki grins. “I think you look quite fetching in Bermuda shorts.”
“It’s too hot.” Thor wipes his sunburned brow and continues sweeping the metal detector. “Why you’d bury Mjölnir in this cursed land…” Another beep. Another bottlecap. Another curse.
“It’s called Florida.” Loki takes a sip. “A joke. We needed a break from the snow.”
“I like snow.” Thor picks another wedgie.
“It could be worse.” Loki motions to Odin’s hairy belly, flopped over his Speedo.
One-Eye waves, then turns away, revealing the Allfather’s thong.
Thor winces. “Cursed land.”
And the trickster laughs.
¤ ¤ ¤
Duke Kimball is a literary boat captain who doesn’t currently own a boat. His work has appeared in places like Mysterion, Star*Line, and Strange Horizons. He lives in Lansing, Michigan, with his wife Michelle and a dog named after a cheese factory.
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