*** “So, Tap,” the bartender began, “What is it you do, exactly?” “I run hot & cold,” he shrugged. “It depends.” “On what?” “On whether they turn the “H” knob or the “C” knob.” “They…who?” “You know–the freaks with opposable thumbs.”
You usually win at Hide & Seek—know the best hiding places and how to not giggle. I look everywhere, but you’re nowhere. Hours, Days, Weeks and then I finally find you: grinning all smarty-pants from a milk carton. (nyah-nyah) You’re IT!
My funeral is exactly as I’d envisioned: Shasta daisies and giant Calla Lilies just like the kind that grow around Alcatraz Island. They even got the songs right: Don’t Fear the Reaper and Jambalaya. The part that goes, “Goodbye Joe, me gotta go…me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou…” Spot On! Not much of […]
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The oak’s limbs are frostbitten. Icy moonlight dances between them and a glistening mosaic pirouette commences. Its aching branches sparkling terribly as the willow watches from afar, weeping.
“Crap!” She slammed the phone down. The sitter cancelled again; right before Louise’s shift. The baby usually slept through the night… Louise grabbed her keys and tip-toed out, as her forgotten cigarette smoldered.