once upon a time . . . Ø ø : Early morning and called to investigate a multiple murder & suicide «first reports» It was November and the kind of wintercold thought lost to childhood : blu’black a.m.=sky with low sodia that ran around residentials and parallined roads, but all equalling one thing : inhabitance
Michael couldn’t stop drinking. His wife Ruth had. “Hey,” he prodded Ruth. He sniffed and rubbed his head. Ruth remained still. He went to the toilet. After flushing on his way to the kitchen, he passed the large framed picture of Walthamstow dog track that he’d taken with him from rented flat -to- rented flat,
Sam and Lana leave their Prius on this ninety-nine degree day and half run to the entrance. On opening the metal and glass door, they are hit with a blast of arctic air that removes the sweat from their brows. The Five Star Diner: Mecca to hungry Jersey folk seeking a cheap but filling meal.
The air was hazy. It had a sticky, good-time feel to it. Girls wearing high heels and short skirts danced with too-old men and flirtatious laughter harmonized the salty tone of the music. Red velvet lined the tables, infused with the stains of old smoke and spilt whisky. ‘Make it a double.’ The tall man
Walking, exhausted and alone into the midnight hours. Stumbling on heels too high, under streetlights that burn too bright and stars too distant to be seen. It’s at times like this you have to be honest with yourself; he was a lecherous bastard with an ego complex bigger than God and you never really loved