“What is it?” He suppressed a yawn. He wasn’t tired; the day had just been extraordinarily long.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
Mick almost laughed. “I grew up in Appalachia, in Baxter fucking Harlan County, Kentucky, and you’re asking me this? This whole county is haunted by something. Why?”
disclaimer–poetry and fiction snippet content are my own original content. unauthorized reproduction of any post content, without prior written permission, is in direct violation of applicable copyright laws.
…Dealing with her at times caused his head to ache, his temples to throb. Days such as today, she was like handling loose, live wire. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “You really don’t mean that.”
She turned her head to him, her gaze falling on him cold and hard. “Do I?” She cleared her throat and returned to her slumped, foot-propped mountain-staring position. “Maybe you should just go.”
“Yeah,” Mick agreed. “You’re right. Coming here has done nothing but waste my time.”…
disclaimer–poetry and fiction snippet content are my own original content. unauthorized reproduction of any post content, without prior written permission, is in direct violation of applicable copyright laws.
Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns. – Charlotte Bronte, in the preface to the second edition of Jane Eyre
Overheard in my living room:
he – You know what it’s time for?
me – Sex and pickles!