Bogota is shrouded in gray. Gray clouds. Gray streets. Gray rain . . .
Tag: flash fiction
I ran into Linda, unexpectedly, the other day at Publix. She used to be pretty, but in her late forties, she’s all bloat, veneers, and Oxy eyes . . .
He’s defunct again. Lying on the floor, screaming about helicopters and LSD experiments. The man-child in his underwear, spread-eagled, crying to the ceiling, maybe even to the outside woods if they’re listening . . .
I gave you my own name, and we shared it for fourteen days . . .
There’s a girl in my nine year old’s third grade class who apparently has been left back more than a couple of times. She’s twelve and sprouting . . .
New York was scruffier then; everywhere you saw signs of its humbling in its bald park lawns and strobe-popping Broadway head shops . . .
The Mayfair was over, the lights turned off, the bran tub emptied, the decorations taken down and locked in cupboards safely. The bouncy castle stood still, awaiting the workmen who would remove it tomorrow. The gates to the schoolyard were shut, and the sentry assumed duty. No one saw the boy in black . . .
“Man gon’ fry out there,” Kinfolk said. He sipped from the tall boy of Hurricane and passed it to Sam . . .