Me and my best friend hung out every night on the streets, smoking cigarettes and talking to older boys in cars.
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Matt sneezed all over the pig fetus and then wiped his nose with his glove covered with formaldehyde and who knows what viruses.
He fought the steering wheel as the old Pontiac struggled to keep its footing in the dense falling snow . . .
My elementary school invited me in for an assembly before I was set to leave. Kids made banners and gave me good luck cards.
This guy had a scar on his cheek as dry as the Arroyo Taiban.
She sat on the bench and watched the sun drip into the ocean. Barefoot couples stood on the beach and clicked their wine glasses in a toast to another beautiful day . . .
The bell above the door jingled. Clark Tennyson looked up and smiled. “Hello Mrs. Hanniford, good to see you again. What’ll it be today?” he asked.
I brew a pot of coffee and try not to think of the corpse in the basement.
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