She got the house, but he kept the snowblower. Her plastic shovel made no headway against the layer of ice beneath the eight inches of new snow. She'd never get the driveway clear. "Shovel your driveway for you, ma'am?" It was the kid from next door. She'd watched him...
"So, how're things going at the magazine?" Mark raised one brow and studied his sister's body language as she passed the bowl of roasted potatoes to her husband, Darren. She assiduously avoided looking her brother in the eye as she asked the question, but there was a...
It had gotten so bad he dreaded going home. As soon as he walked through the door, the interrogations began. She demanded he account for every second of his day. She would tear open the mail and inspect it, especially the credit card bills. A restaurant charge set off...
It's four in the morning like in the Leonard Cohen song; "It's four in the morning, the end of December," and it sure feels like December in this crappy cottage out in the middle of nowhere. At least I'm still alive, though; there's a thought to comfort myself to...
It made a kind of cultural sense that Hjalmar immediately launched into his smorgasbord metaphor as soon as Kris and I stepped through the portal. His short-cropped, spiky hair fluttered with nods. "Bibi gives the best head, male or female. You must get a taste of...
He knew the reason for it. At least he thought he knew it. He had only to look at himself in the mirror to gain insight. He was overweight, over forty, and overworked. That was how he felt sometimes... over. When the penis isn't erect, not even slightly, it's...
"Life's cruel in subtle ways," offered the old fart. She rolled her wide eyes and shrugged her small shoulders back at him. It made him laugh. "Very droll, Baby-Bitch." She stuck her tongue out at him, vivid pink tip between Blazing-Red lipstick lips, and stretched...
Tablets, I say to her, running my hand over the swell of her bare haunch as she turns over on her back. Her breasts flatten and settle, the nipples as big astoll house cookies, staring wall eyed in opposite directions like Homer Simpson's eyeballs. Laptops are getting...
I make coffee in my kitchen while the wan light of early morning on the lake filters through the louvers of the Venetian blinds in the cottage. It's the last of my Blue Mountain, a gift from the griot, Kayode 'Kayo' Mackenzie of Hilton Head Island. I want it for...
"Bernard? Are you there?" Marguerite whispered. There was no answer. The dusk was filled with crickets chirping. She looked out into the shadowed garden and clutched her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. She crossed the wide porch, walking around one of the tall...