I met Libby through an online dating site after I graduated college. Our “In Tune” rating was exceptionally high. I tended to get nervous and tongue-tied around women, but it was different with Libby. We had so much in common we finished each other’s sentences half the time. I was so taken with Libby, I found myself growing more and more concerned about her spending time with anyone else.
The piranha grinned at Riley through the window of the thrift store. Yellow green, shiny, about six inches long, teeth projecting forward from the jaw bones, a personification of evil mounted on a simple rectangular wooden stand.
Week 176 has come and gone and here we are at week 177.
I’ve been working on a story this week. I’ve enjoyed thinking about it, structuring and editing and trying to spot the inevitable mistakes that are invisible to me but obvious to Nik and Diane! I’ve spent quite a bit of time and that doesn’t bother me. It’s a lot of fun.
Enjoying time is relative. I can spend hours cooking, reading, working on this site, listening to music and appreciating alcohol. Time doesn’t matter when you are doing what you enjoy. But working, getting a haircut, travelling to work, watching TV all does my head in. I resent the time that I spend. But the worst ever is gardening. Sorry folks, but those of you who enjoy this activity are masochistic perverts. To be fair, I have let my garden become fairly manic this year and yesterday was its first cut. I’m hoping for a drought from now to September, then the frost to hit. One cut a year is more than enough.
I had to borrow Death’s scythe due to the length of the grass
I work for the federal government.
I don’t know what that means.
Yes I do. It means pushing this broom from one end of the hall to the other ─ this end to that end ─ when it’s dark outside. Like now. I don’t like the dark, but these humming lights always work. If they don’t, I must report them to my boss. Mr. Shapiro.
Does that make me a reporter? No one likes reporters.
I hope the humming lights never burn out.
Sally didn’t think much of the Lyft driver. He wore his hat at a sideways slant. When he turned the wheel of the hybrid, he made fight noises like Sally used hear in those Shaw brother’s movies she watched with her dad.
The people of the village of Dos Cruces believe every event in life is a story that teaches a lesson.
They sat wrapped in their cobijas around a quiet little fire that made dancing shadows on the Sajuaros. Cocopeli, the coyote, watched them from the brush with great curiosity, trying to think of a trick to play on them. He kept an eye on Dolores.
Amanda would lie awake at 3am, swept under blankets, watching the darkest bedroom corners twist and snap spines and smile. And then she’d get up, and start the day like nothing happened. Like she didn’t know what it was like to be beckoned, to be wanted.