Mr. Hot Spot
He couldn’t get the fertilizer stink out of his nostrils. The sacks he delivered were made from liquid raw sewage brewed locally in Bakersfield. The odor seeped into his clothing
He couldn’t get the fertilizer stink out of his nostrils. The sacks he delivered were made from liquid raw sewage brewed locally in Bakersfield. The odor seeped into his clothing
A drug dealer, M, helped us with the down payment of our house. He was one of my husband’s oldest friends. They’d grown up together in Redwood City. M’s dad
First-timers expect to see Arthur Murray standing in a striped bow-tie, but all they see is me in my 501s and a black turtleneck, and a lot shorter than Mr.
I’m climbing halfway up the side of a slippery glass mountain, which is one of many I must ascend before approaching a volcanic range that lingers on the horizon. Luckily
When I was married, I’d sat at my desk for four months waiting to be transferred to another department, and because none of my superiors exactly knew when that was
I’m running down the side of this volcanic mountain and I get my toe stuck on this overhang. In the distance, I see a ghoul waving his arms and screaming
I invite you to my website.