A Very Short Story
In expression of regret, of pain, he sat at the desk in his head. A beautiful, roll-top affair he’d have been embarrassed to own had it been real. Smooth paper, the pen like an extension of his arm and it dragged ink across the unblemished white with the slickness of a pond-skimmer. Trails of a deep and constant black, sentences never finished and paper discarded. Thousands of words,...
Tequila and Drill Bits
Pine needles and Newports. That’s what the cab of the truck had smelled like and he was glad to step down from it and walk the last few miles. Behind him, the sun was going down, turning his shadow into a needle-thin giant that ran on ahead to play tag or fetch or who knows what. He was in no hurry to catch it. In his pocket was a piece of still manila paper, thumbed and dog-eared along one side...