Agnes scratched her head with her pencil, slipped it into the bun on the back of her head, and reached in her pocket to count out her tips for the night. “Yes, Arthur, Mickey’s still here, still waiting for Delores.” Continue reading
Cool Water or Writer’s Block?
The firefighter pulled off his helmet, face streaked with sweat and dust from a raging fire, now controlled.
He’d single-handedly saved an even dozen citizens that night. He felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down into the wide eyes of a tiny tot.
“Thanks, Mister!” the child lisped. “Want a TMCoke and a smile?”
“Thanks, but I’d rather have some cool water.”
(No. Just…No. Highlight, then delete.)