An older piece of my writing. May it find a new home here.
John sat at the kitchen table, his face resting in his hands. Brianna, the woman who he had barely known a short year ago, sat on the other side. 527 more words
I had to get up early to dance with an Egyptian mummy to the music of Stravinsky in a firebird morning. I returned from micro-potholing in the garden just as a tube train raced through our dining room (knocking down a diamond encrusted vole skull and a photograph of June in rapt conversation with a plastic boomerang as it did so). 70 more words
At first, he didn’t think it would ever end, but then it did, and he was better for it.