I grit my teeth as I press my hand tighter against the hole in my stomach . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
“Tickets! Tickets, please! Thanks, miss. Change at Long Branch.”
Detective Mark Wheeler lay on the grass. The ground chilled his bones as the fog rolled in.
This smell was different. This smell was not like before.
“In Eyre Square the boy Victor waited, watching the front entrance of the Great Southern Hotel. The bells of the Abbey church struck 2:00 am in the rain-solaced silence.”
The sparrow literally dropped through the flue into Helen’s cold fire place at just barely daylight. At first, she thought she imagined it.
Blades reached her just as the light at State and Washington turned green . . .
“Keep Portland Weird.” I see it on signs all over town, but what does it even mean?