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Showing posts from March, 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

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.