This writing is based off the prompt "I remember."
I remember your face, from somewhere. But I don't know where. I can't place you with certainty in any single memory or general chapter in my life. Were we children? Was it a dream? Were you crossing a New York street when I briefly registered you walking toward me? I just don't know. It's dark in here, this corner bar in the middle of nowhere, Beloit, Wisconsin. The jukebox leaves everyone looking a little red in the face. But those eyes. They recognize me too, I can somehow sense that now. My heart rate picks up a bit as you approach me. "Hello." "Hi ... do I know you?"
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This writing is based off of the prompt "Why is Ian struggling to steer his car?"
I-55, he needs the turnoff for the I-55. It's fucking freezing out, and he's driving with the top down, in his underwear. He's flying on five bottles of South African red wine, feeling steamy, but his fingers are numb. |
AuthorChicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird. Categories
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