Previously published in Exhuming Alexandria
The oregano crossed the street.
There was a ball of yarn.
One by one I let in soggy, limp-haired, neutral-toned people and for a matter of minutes I am just standing there like a royal guard or a well-trained Golden Retriever.
This shit is not the spirit of anything. I swallow and it feels like there’s a potato chip stuck in my throat. Can we drop this?
This mess has teeth and you’re too wide awake and alive and broke and out so he says he could do half now, half when you get paid Friday, if that works
a story of a man and his mantis...
Walking in Quarantine
( Flash Fiction)
A Story of a Greenwich Village Landmark
What kind of story would you like to write?
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