When Carly read the notice to disconnect, she couldn’t decide whether to go shake Jack awake or strangle him in his sleep. So she just stood there. The front room of the double-wide [Read more…] about Notice to Disconnect
The professor wore the required shirt and shoes. He expected service.
The girl behind the counter gaped at him, her mouth a perfect O. The professor set down a bottle. “It’s all in your imagination,” he told her. True enough. What could she see beyond the counter-top? A man in bifocals and a wrinkled shirt. “Let’s get on with it.” He pulled a bill from his shirt pocket, and unfurled it beside the register.
She rang him up.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #336 at Velvet Verbosity.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #335 at Velvet Verbosity.
His sainted mother needed him. Big surprise! The message didn’t say what for. It didn’t say “sainted,” either, but Susan read that into it. “Walter, this is your mother. I need you.” That was all. Not even “please call,” but that was implied, too. Of course you need him, dear. You’re 85 and alone. You need Walter and six more like him. Susan smiled. Yes, seven Walters should be enough to meet any woman’s needs. Still smiling, she pressed delete. She would tell Walter to call his mother, as she told him almost every day. The need would be implied.
In the Latin Quarter, we were given a dusky room with an alley view. I frowned. I grumbled. “The room is dismal,” I told the proprietor. “It looks nothing like your website.” He was as old as the cobblestones. [Read more…] about The Parisian Sky