Flash Fiction

Fiction

Pillow Talk

I was leaving, and you knew it. You saw my bag, too heavy for the occasion, slumped on the chair next to me. You talked to them, to her, to ...

Sweetheart

He thought he ought to give her a key to his place. Yes, it had been three months, but he could feel it. The way a snake knows when it has t...

Poetry

Huh?

I have a hard time with milky tennis shoes and photographs of champagne. The void insisting it is not a void. Especially when I’ve taste...