Tag Archives: cleavage

Let Go

It started with Jones from accounting. He was called into an office, so routine, and then security came and unplugged his computer. Donna Moore was next, she was some kind of account rep. In a week Baker, Lee and Hernandez were all gone.

They all walked out of that office with same dull numb looks on their face, like they’d seen a ghost.

They took on all of accounting and all of the account reps, cutting roughly a third of their numbers. Though I had some evidence I was safe, you never know.

Katie had been this ever-present force in my office life. Nothing serious, nothing real, just flirting. A passing glance, a little smile, a look that lasted a second too long. We never even really spoke much but she suddenly became my best friend when the trouble started.

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Fiction – Rent

I am working on a bunch of stories, but this is the only one that is finished. Thanks to an editor who needs to start blogging!
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Fiction – Halloween

A story inspired by a Halloween costume one friend wore and a fantasy another friend told me about.
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On the Train

Subway intimacies are wonderful little amusements when you are living a life that is amplified. The little accidental meetings of eyes or occidental faux pas. Reading each others newspapers or coming face to face with ample cleavage. The bump and grind of start and stop trains and the forced sardine meetings of strangers. Innocent intimacies must go unacknowledged by most but not to me.

I am helpless to record the ceremonial reactions of the morning after couple in the little two seat bench at the end of the car. She is slightly embarrassed by her somewhat messy hair. He is both proud of himself and sort of straining to get away. Still his hand finds her knee and her eyes close briefly.

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Writing Prompt – Artist Management

The prompt was: A handsome European classical musician cornering a girl who works in his agent’s office.
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Barista

Jack was addicted. It was something he needed to admit to himself. It was something he needed help with. It was something that was part of him.

“Gimme a quad shot cappuccino, very dry, non-fat milk.”

He stood at the counter digging deep into the pockets of his jeans trying to get another fifty cents. It was a costly habit, four shots of espresso with a little steamed milk was five bucks.

Behind him a line of well dressed people tried to summon the psychic power needed to destroy him. He was holding up the line, therefor holding up their caffeine intake. This was a dangerous thing.

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