Dirty white sneakers, yellowing at the edged. No socks, but sheer black pantyhose. Working woman who knows the ropes. Black skirt is rucked up, half her thighs showing. Tabloid folded in half underneath a small clutch/purse. Manicure is worn and dull, silver rings on left middle finger, slender black leather watch on the same wrist….
Tag: writing
Beast Inside
With his head bowed over his phone she can see the muzzle of the beast in his face. The shadow of his stubble narrows his face and sharpens his cheekbones. His nose points straight and she thinks fox. When he raises his eyes she thinks shark-predator. Has anyone told him he has a small flat…
Blowing off Some Steam
Her dirty, coffee-stained sneakers hit the sidewalk at a fast clip, heel-to-toe until she remembered to walk ball-to-heel, which never lasted long. She was walking home, her tote bag clenched between her left arm and the side of her body. Loose, black exercise pants were cinched tight above her hips, the hems rolled up to…
Working Hands
Hundreds, maybe thousands of hairs are all together in what looks like one uniform mass (God knows exactly how many hairs there are on your head). His feet both point forward, rocking back to lean against the door, knees locked. Blue jeans dark, but artificially worn – fairly new, no fraying cuffs. Not tight, hard…
The Problem With Pickup Lines
Frost was firmly dug in at her table in the school café. It was midterms and anxiety was running high, while sanity was at a shocking new low. She was sure that the hours of sleep every student in the café had gotten over the past week, if added up, would probably be less than…
Score!
Dana lay next to him, panting, and momentarily come-dumb. It didn’t take long for the fog to lift, and she scrambled for her phone. Tyler groaned; she lay draped over him as she quickly navigated her phone’s menus. Suddenly the sex-thickened air was pierced with tinny music. “Seriously, Dana?” “Uh, yeah, I just scored.” Tyler…
Little Gentian 