Wednesday, March 27, 2013

A brief Murder Mystery Scene (fiction)

He died on a Tuesday.  

Three days later he lays diminished before us in a dark suit, starched handkerchief and Gucci shoes.  He would have hated the shoes.  Those of us who knew him knew he wouldn’t be caught dead in Gucci shoes--well apparently he would be. 

“He looks so peaceful,” they say.

“He’s dead,” I remind them, lest they forget they never watched him live, only watched him die.

She looks appalled, sharp intake of breath, pursed lips, anger, then its gone—and I quickly follow

Friday, March 8, 2013

Things I think about at 2 in the morning

There are some things you know—sort of instinctively.  Like not to get in a car with strangers, not to sleep with someone you just met and not to tell a guy how many other guys you really slept with before him. 


But I tell you what, after over 40 years on God’s green Earth if there’s one thing I know in the marrow of my bones, it’s that I don’t know a damn thing.