“How many times are you going to bring that up?”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“Oh, but that look.”
“I wasn’t looking at you.”
“But you were thinking of me, weren’t you?”
“Because you stepped on my heel.” Continue reading
She swore, smacking her forehead with her fist, once, twice, a third time. This couldn’t happen, not when perfect delivery was so critical. Continue reading
Write or write not - there is no aspiring.
Poetry and Commentary that Smells
poetry, fiction, art, books, retro
A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
It's All True, None of It's True. Don't Ask.
Words of a clarklike female
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
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Fiction Writing
Lance Greenfield - Night Writer
