Eunice sniffed the milk carton left on the counter and wrinkled her nose, swallowing hard against her rising gorge.
Photo by alisdair
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Good Morning
Let’s get the moral of the story up front, shall we?
Trick or Treat
Moldy sugar and weevily flour, Some rancid butter at the Witching Hour.
The Acknowledgement
Between panes of glass, choice slips away.
Twenty-Three Years In
It’s late at night and we lie in bed