My father’s car always smelled like loose tobacco and freshly ground coffee.
Fiction
February 17, 2015
She painted. She took photographs. Wrote poetry. Sang. Laughed. Danced.
February 16, 2015
I do not look like a damn rodeo clown! You know, I really liked this look, but it has her feeling like I’m a stalker rapist.
February 15, 2015
It lulled her to sleep at night with its rhythmic ticking. It was all things to her and it was all things to me.
February 14, 2015
Now, can I please have a rum and coke and a big old cheeseburger, medium rare?
February 13, 2015
He kept yelling at Carlos.
February 12, 2015
He sat down, facing her, fearing that this could be the last time he’d be able to drink her in.
February 11, 2015
You guys, I think I had a rage blackout. No, for real. I’m serious! I really, really don’t remember the past two minutes.
February 10, 2015
The teachers mend me. run me through the wash. Clean me up. Sew me up. Good as new. Good as new. Forever and anon.
February 9, 2015
Jesus H. Christ on a cross, I never, not once in my goddamned life, thought I’d end up like this.
Marie Hendry 