for short.” I counter, keenly aware that I am sounding glib, too clever. ![]() I wonder what font he has used and why he has chosen a “2” instead of a “1” or a “3.” I intend to break the code if I’m allowed to stick around long enough. It sits on the tender white skin where the doctor searches for sounds of life. I stare at the delicately inked red “2” on the inside of his right wrist. The designs on his shirt swim before me, a wash ‘n’ wear painting by Miro with abstract minnows darting in between watery waves of blue and yellow fabric. ![]() “Would you mind being pond scum?” he asks. ![]() If you see yourself here please rest assured that I have liberally embroidered upon who you are and what was said so that although there is truth in this story it is built out of lies. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely intentional. Note To My Readers: This is a work of fiction.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |