A liquid light cleanses the air, splashes mirrors across the passing car windows. Here she comes, obesity incarnate, à la Samantha, trudging along oblivious to the sun puddles on the sidewalk . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
It all started with that damned umbrella . . .
You had terminal, aggressive cancer this time, and today was the day you died from it at home . . .
Her message said eight and so I was there eight sharp like a good little lapdog. Marla had a way of reaching inside of me and ripping out my backbone . . .
It had been two years since I had a drink, and life was looking up. I was in Cuernavaca, Mexico, taking care of my grandfather. . .
It hadn’t been half an hour since they settled in when Winston started up . . .
The sun is only just getting tired, sliding itself down behind the row of houses on the other side of Missouri. The sky is gray and restless. “Might be one of them derechos tonight . . .”
Every South London borough has a murder mile. A stab alley. A no-man’s land patrolled by kids steeled with knives . . .