I came at her from behind while counting the roaches crawling up that bathroom wall. This wasn’t making love. This was desperation.
Dead flies on the window sill. Struggled to get outside through the glass window. Didn’t think to go backward through the blinds. They die.
Business travelers gathered around the reception desk with their carry-on luggage and laptop bags. Quietly, I shuffle by in my hobo clothes.
Only two people were shot and one seriously beaten at the annual “Running with the FBI” festival.
He walked with a purpose, strode with determination. And because he smelled of fecal matter, they left a wide path for him to follow.