There is a guy drying his armpit with a hand dryer. I’m seated behind him on a bench in the men’s room at the gym, drying my feet with a towel. He doesn’t even have a bushy armpit.
I’m in awe of people who write books. Big books with important characters and brainy plot twists. I can’t comprehend that mental stoicism, to spend all your time with these characters, to feed them,
There is a parcel waiting at the office. It’s nearing the festive season, often there might be a parcel waiting in the office: A planner. A diary. A pen in a black velvet casing with a weight that can moor a boat.
Unless you have been slaving in a mine I suspect you already know how my day was yesterday. Still, I can’t resist rehashing a rich story, can I? It’s funny, there are people who went home yesterday at the end of the day,
Our heroine Abby, now half naked, lies on a white bed with her long legs open. She has an old copy of True Love face down on her bosom. She was reading the Last Word,