Friday, May 18, 2007

Bloor Line, raining and I have a hole in my sole.

Caucasian woman, early 50s, wearing taupe from head-to-toe, a bright orange umbrella resting on her lap, a plastic knife acting as her bookmark.

Two Alone, Sandra Brown (Mira)

Groaning, he thrashed through the woods, viciously determined to keep his thoughts on track. As soon as he built the shelter, such close proximity wouldn't be necessary. He would keep his eyes and his hands --

The piercing scream brought him up short.

She turned the knife slowly in her hand, ran her thumb along the serrated edge and lifted it to her nose, faint bitter peel of citrus, lime, to be exact, a wedge, to be more precise, on a checkered blanket, atop bristly grass, in a quiet patch of park, beside a rippling stream and old knotted oak, sipping the one gin and tonic she used to share with her lover every summer Sunday, their nails fresh and painted after a morning of pampering.


See you Tuesday!

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