A collective gasp seems to permeate the room along with the smell of red meat. It is only as I add my hamburger hash to the table that I realize I have been invited to a vegetarian pot luck.
My last message to her is written in the snow on her front yard.
I submit my review in the form of an interview with questions but no responses. The questions contain all the information and interpretation but readers think there has been an editorial oversight.
“What the hell are we doing here?”
They spend the night in their orange VW minivan parked in my driveway. The only time they come in is to shower in the morning.
He is like a carefully calibrated time bomb, set to detonate at the moment of most potential destruction. I fall upon him, shielding her from as much damage as possible.