The stink of fish clung to him like cheap cologne. She was dead and he knew there’d be trouble. He put his fish down. And went to the shower

I heard babies crying. And birds chirping. And cars honking. I remember all of them. But I never heard her call after me. As she now claims.

There was a party and the drinks were flowing and then someone said something dull and the cameras came out and the rest is public knowledge

They hear an out of tune guitar in the distance and he thinks the situation can’t get any sadder and then she says what she’s been thinking.

I was behind this man. He walked slowly. Like a snail. And I couldn’t take it. I confronted him. I told him to speed up. But the man was me.