I pass Elaine the banana bread. Oh, I’m sure she’s had a trying week, I tell her, clucking in sympathy, listening like the good friend I am . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Had I actually just dropped Leland? The red-winged blackbirds seemed to think so. . .
You could tell by the way that they cleaned the guns that they’d been taught by the same person . . .
“Your first body?” “Dead one, yeah.”
Capitán Ernesto Guillén, the chief of detectives for Zone Six of Ecuador’s Policía Nacional, was tired and cranky, but most of all hungry. . .
I knew the precise moment our relationship went sour; I always did . . .
Hedgepig believed in himself; belief without question, utter faith . . .
Three miserable years. But there I was, fucking cigarette in my mouth . . .
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