Giselle slid in her green contact lenses before slipping out the back door and tottering in her stilettos across the parking lot to Chief’s car. When she opened the passenger door, she was greeted with the smoke of his nasty cigarette and a bouquet of blue hydrangeas. “For me?” She picked them up off the seat, eased into their place, and leaned over to plant a kiss on Chief’s cheek . . .
Tag: Sofia Quintero
Featured: Music/Popular Culture/Art
- Confessions of a Ex-Doofus-ItchyFooted Mutha
- What Is Punk?
- Simon’s Cat Off to the Vet . . . and Other Cat-astrophes
- Will Work for Drugs
- Infinity Blues
- A Fictional History of the United States with Huge Chunks Missing
- Drawing Autism
- Please Take Me Off the Guest List
- Please Don’t Bomb the Suburbs
- The Worst Breakfast