tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post164025678751871005..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Flash fiction contest: The Usual Santas (Soho Press)Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-19014525542920280542017-10-29T07:58:47.662-04:002017-10-29T07:58:47.662-04:00First one had red cape, red lips, basket. Cookies ...First one had red cape, red lips, basket. Cookies for grandma, she said, soft not crunchy, for Pete’s sake, get it right this time.<br /><br />Fine.<br /><br />*Presto, cookies.*<br /><br />Second had golden curls, an annoyed flush, orthodontia flashing. Porridge, she said, not gelatinous slime, you moron. Also, hot--not blazing, not frigid, just right.<br /><br />FINE.<br /><br />*Presto, porridge.*<br /><br />Still later, a snow-skinned one: 7 pies, SEVEN, she said, not 18, do they not teach math in ugly school?<br /><br />Hummph.<br /><br />*Presto, pies.*<br /><br />Grrr.<br /><br />*Presto, muttonlettucetomatoonwhite.* (*Presto, rye.*)<br /><br />Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.<br /><br />*Presto, cakes.* <br /><br />*Presto, salad-spaghetti-cappuccinos-friedchicken-lobster-shepherdspie-pickles-popcorn-eclairs-muttonlettucetomatosandwich-chocolatepudding-nachos-knightinshiningarmor.*<br /><br />!?<br /><br />#()*#@(%@)(*)(#*$(%)@*#$&<br /><br />*Presto, wolf.*<br /><br />*Presto, BEAR TRIO.*<br /><br />*PRESTO, HUNTSMAN-DWARVES-SPINNINGWHEEL-ha-EVILSTEPSISTERS-CANNIBAL-TALLTOWER-EVILGRANDVIZIER-UNDERSEAWITCH-haha-OGRE-TROLL-PIRATECAPTAIN-POISONEDAPPLE-CURSEDSLIPPERS-giggle-BUMPYMATTRESS*<br /><br />*Presto, heeheeeWICKEDSTEPMOTHER-WICKEDSTEPMOTHER-WICKEDSTEPMOTHER-MWAHAHHAHAHAAHHAA.*<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-79000429832910614042017-10-29T07:53:38.563-04:002017-10-29T07:53:38.563-04:00“What’s the story?”
“Fat Boy tried to drop Rudy o...“What’s the story?”<br /><br />“Fat Boy tried to drop Rudy off an 18th floor fire escape.”<br /><br />Rudy probably deserved it, the little shit, but still. “Did he forget you guys only fly on Christmas Eve?”<br /><br />“You know how he is—so HOHOHO about everything.”<br /><br />“He didn’t get into the elves’ brownies, right?”<br /><br />“Not this time.”<br /><br />“Good.” Assault would be hard enough to defend. He didn’t need a drug charge, too. “Anyone tell the Missus?”<br /><br />“No way. If he’s grounded, she’ll turn us into short ribs.”<br /><br />“Understood.” Frosty picked up his briefcase. “I’ll take it from here.” <br /><br />Law and Order: North PoleJust Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-82200540121572543042017-10-29T07:51:54.503-04:002017-10-29T07:51:54.503-04:00You check your phone.
Midnight. The morning will ...You check your phone.<br /><br />Midnight. The morning will be merciless when it comes.<br /><br />Open the liquor cabinet.<br /><br />There’s one bottle. Handwritten label. Gasohol – 118 proof.<br /><br />Good odds.<br /><br />Raise the bottle to your lips. Take a lingering pull.<br /><br />The label may have been right after all.<br /><br />You peer into the bottle. An escape route that goes nowhere.<br /><br />Climb to the roof, stumble to the ledge, look down.<br /><br />Multistory unit. Tall enough to work, too short for second thoughts.<br /><br />It's your only out.<br /><br />You know it's true, but knowing is enough.<br /><br />You step back from the ledge.RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-69882364718919703522017-10-29T06:03:55.491-04:002017-10-29T06:03:55.491-04:00Central Park is partying tonight. Soho's far e...Central Park is partying tonight. Soho's far enough from Seoul, they'll never find her. She pats her roofline into place. The plastic surgeon did her proud. <br />She's stashed the stuff on the 18th story, on top of bagels, underneath the lox. She tips a vat (or two) of whiskey into her waterlines, and turns the speakers up. Her elevators start to list. <br />The doorbell rings.<br />She jumps, begins to fall. It's tipsy being tall, when you're used to short.<br />Windows crunch. Bagels shower.<br />Children cry, "There's rocks in the cream cheese!"<br />Central cries, too. The perfect escape, ruined by gravity.Leilanihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08948847733088202324noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55960583247520178392017-10-29T04:16:49.354-04:002017-10-29T04:16:49.354-04:00Soho Billy, fetcher extraordinaire, pauses in the ...<b>Soho</b> Billy, fetcher extraordinaire, pauses in the doorway to the Wardour Steet Deli as the searchlight sweeps past. <br /><br />Just <b>18</b>, thin as a rake (‘Sideways on, he disappears!’ Nonna’s constant lament), Billy calculates the <b>short</b>est route back to the hospice, counts the seconds between the blinding beams then away he moves like liquid through the shadows.<br /><br />At the hospice, Billy pauses by the bedroom door and retrieves his cargo: <b>caper</b>s from Nonna’s home village, feature of so many family recipes.<br /><br />Billy enters, but his father’s bloodshot eyes tell the <b>story</b> that there’ll be no last taste of Sicily after all.Kate Outhwaitehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12294866010972517265noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-30252870168332191832017-10-29T01:30:38.486-04:002017-10-29T01:30:38.486-04:00"It's over," submarine Captain Caper..."It's over," submarine Captain Capersky says. "The short history of humankind. In 18 minutes, they released every nuke in existence. We, underwater, are the only uncontaminated people alive." He sighs. "They'll breed monsters up there, now."<br /><br />"So, how do 'we' survive?"<br /><br />"We breed, too, Lieutenant."<br /><br />"But, Sir, I'm the only woman aboard."<br /><br />"I know. And I'm sorry. But you're humanity's only hope. There will be no rape. But there will be one baby a year. You pick the man." He clasps her hand. "I truly am sorry."<br /><br />She swipes at a tear. "Me, too. I'm sterile. I can't have children."Barbarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15769803733067838372noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-60103792141102622062017-10-29T01:02:42.852-04:002017-10-29T01:02:42.852-04:00She had to escape. Escape, right now. Escape the 1...She had to escape. Es<i>cape, r</i>ight now. Escape the <i>18</i> years of abuse, insults, constant humiliations... Escape, to make a long <i>story short</i>, her life. So she stole her mother's car and all the cash they had on hand and drove off, swearing she'd never look back. Hours later she pulled off the road. There was just one thing she had to do.<br /><br />"I'm sorry, Mama," she said to herself. "I'm <i>so ho</i>nestly sorry. I just couldn't. I hope you can forgive me. And someday, Mama, someday I hope you can escape, too." She dried her tears, and drove away.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-54239755570604069512017-10-29T00:34:28.626-04:002017-10-29T00:34:28.626-04:00‘Why me?’
‘You should have more confidence! You h...‘Why me?’<br /><br />‘You should have more confidence! You have talents’.<br /><br />‘I’m confident. Last week I made shortcrust pastry from scratch. I’m just not sure falling through a portal on a random SOHO caper makes me the one to lead your revolution. I can’t vote ‘til I’m 18. Plus pretty sure my address would constitute voter fraud’.<br /><br />The people are in shadows, despite the lights. <br />I have a spotlight? Weird.<br /><br />‘Maybe her? Or him? They all have a story that matters’.<br /><br />A long silence. And then-<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />Change takes time.<br /><br />He finally spoke. ‘What’s the right thing to say?’<br /><br />‘Let’s listen’.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Brighttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04404682134487083817noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-82760671902903572062017-10-28T23:22:05.036-04:002017-10-28T23:22:05.036-04:00First from here to go to Yale, living Soho fairy t... <br /><br />First from here to go to Yale, living Soho fairy tale<br />Jaded, bitter corporate story: Bossman's only after glory<br />Says we're "family", dunno -- 18 years felt short yet slow <br />We've bought what, where? Another?<br />Sure, I've been there, with my mother.<br />Caperell plan again? Not so great for townies, then<br />Discrepancy? Wonder why. Just a simple family guy<br />Sabotage? Wasn't me--been with Granny, 83<br />Deal fell through? Oh, too bad. Local bought it? What a cad.<br />Onto greener pastures, then. The company will try again--<br />But somewhere else. As for me, I'll be with my family<br />Running Gran's new company. Brigidhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13768090206152536761noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-84236272922273094782017-10-28T22:31:44.698-04:002017-10-28T22:31:44.698-04:00
“We suck at this.”
“True. Shooting the possesse...<br /><br />“We suck at this.”<br /><br />“True. Shooting the possessed in the head is not part of ritual exorcism.”<br /><br />“I panicked.”<br /><br />Two priests sit at the bar. The pale barkeep listens.<br /><br /> “So how do we explain this?”<br /><br />“The feds spin a story which leaves out the demons entirely.”<br /><br />“We escape revealing the truth. The demon will find another host. Our strategy stinks.”<br /><br />“We crush orthodox methods, but what choice did we have? 18 already dead and that thing was just getting started.”<br /><br />“Clever beast. We hunt until we find it.”<br /><br />The barkeep smiles.<br /><br />“Oh, I doubt you’ll need to hunt me.”<br /><br />E.M. Goldsmithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18387494005655553037noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-85535436272421123462017-10-28T22:30:16.209-04:002017-10-28T22:30:16.209-04:0018?
Not much time considering the crimes they’d c...<i>18?</i><br /><br />Not much time considering the crimes they’d committed to get here: fraud, threats, shoplifting to corroborate their Instagram backstory. <br /><br />Anything for 15 minutes of the good life. They’d nearly gotten away with it but came up short.<br /><br />Mindy shoved her hands into the pockets of her orange jumpsuit. She’d shank someone with her silver stilettos if she didn’t get food fast. <br /><br />Taylor grimaced when a girl picked the capers off a Mediterranean Frittata. “Criminal.” <br /><br />“How much longer?” Mindy glared at the guard.<br /><br />“9 minutes.”<br /><br />Ugh, you literally had to commit murder to get a brunch table in Soho.<br />Sherin Nicolehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06534766663397123868noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-36589832669914046552017-10-28T21:26:27.734-04:002017-10-28T21:26:27.734-04:00I turn myself in, 18 to 20 month stretch. Only way...I turn myself in, 18 to 20 month stretch. Only way I’ll get time that short.<br /><br />You’ll probably already be gone when I get out. <br /><br />I don’t earn much favor with the guards. They’ve heard every sob story. <br /><br />Time off for good behavior? Amoroso? Hospice? Bank job for chemo? <br /><br />No?<br /><br />There’s only one way. <br /><br />Escape route clear. <br /><br />I follow the clues in the sidewalk you’ve left. Our journey, chalked flowers to mark each milestone.<br /><br />Serendipity. Victoria’s Secret. Four Seasons. New York Presbyterian Hospital. Apple Bank. Crunch.<br /><br />Last stop: Our Lady of Peace. <br /><br />I hope you’ll be waiting.Karen McCoyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02640324898284007337noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-56974494217214512642017-10-28T21:13:31.086-04:002017-10-28T21:13:31.086-04:00T-bag swears he'll kill me unless the escape r...T-bag swears he'll kill me unless the escape route changes. I planned for just one.<br />“So how we gonna do this?” he asks.<br /><br />Number 1 was a mistake; her death shaped my history.<br />Number 2, angelic, pale blond hair reflecting moonlight as she sank into the river.<br /><br />Twenty years of impeccable murder uncovered. <br />Convicted for the deaths of 18. <br />There were really 30.<br /><br />Time is short; lethal injection looms.<br />“Get your skinheads to riot. Meet by the infirmary.”<br />He nods, turns away. <br />My shiv finds his jugular.<br />31.<br /><br />I planned for just one.<br />Twenty years and 30 more angels await.Richelle Elberghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11323766317305564428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-14577341424981203912017-10-28T20:00:08.622-04:002017-10-28T20:00:08.622-04:00“So, how does Plan B work?” Zamboni said. Easy nic...“So, how does Plan B work?” Zamboni said. Easy nickname, no backstory necessary. He was big, slow and ice-cold.<br /><br />Nobody answered. Plan A had worked like the Titanic.<br /><br />“What I thought,” Zamboni said. “Now it’s my way.” He pulled out a handgun. We gasped.<br /><br />“Blondie, fake like you passed out. You’re already half-way there. When the guard enters, I’ll take him down with my friend, Remington. Any questions?”<br /><br />“Chill, dude.” I stepped up. “It’s an Escape Room. We’ve got 18 minutes remaining. Not to mention the rest of our lives.” <br /><br />Shortly after the cops showed, the rest of us escaped.<br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-84348223013423250262017-10-28T19:08:32.625-04:002017-10-28T19:08:32.625-04:00Despite a spirited breath, I still missed candle n...Despite a spirited breath, I still missed candle number 18. Again. The lonely flicker danced in my parents’ eyes, sparking a bittersweet rewind / replay.<br /><br />“Short stuff” taking her first unsteady steps, falling into the comfy chair to giggle through <i>Cat in a Quicksilver Caper</i>, howling in ecstasy after seeing the word “Congratulations” below the Harvard letterhead.<br /><br />I wasn't prepared to leave all that behind.<br /><br />Dad finally broke the requisite silence. “So, how are you holding up, sweetie?”<br /><br />“Same old story. I miss her. I miss her so much. I wish she were still here.”<br /><br />I’m still here, Mommy. I am.Michael Seesehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03694187657718931214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-83894685375571083272017-10-28T19:07:44.228-04:002017-10-28T19:07:44.228-04:00"Just one more house, honey. Please?"
&q..."Just one more house, honey. Please?"<br />"We've seen six already," he replied, short-tempered.<br />"I'm so hoping this one's perfect."<br />"Google says it has a history of deaths, hauntings," he said.<br />"Silly rumours."<br />"It's ancient. And remote," he said.<br />"Great place to escape, right?"<br /><br />The listing agent let them in, handed them glossy brochures.<br />"This claims 20 people died here," he said, "but google reports 18."<br />"Anticipation," the realtor muttered. "Owner cutting reprint costs again."<br />"What?"<br />"Come on, honey. I can't wait to see the basement. It says the game room is to die for."<br />The realtor smiled. "After you."<br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-13900871168010926062017-10-28T18:53:48.133-04:002017-10-28T18:53:48.133-04:00At 18, she was all potential. Short on experience,...At 18, she was all potential. Short on experience, long on drive. So hopeful.<br /><br />Time has not been kind.<br /><br />She can’t get up anymore, so I bring warm water and wash her hair. Gently, though. Clumps come out in my hands if I’m not careful. Then lipstick. That wine color she kept in her purse. It suits her.<br /><br />Time to go; our story’s over. I untangle myself. One last kiss before my escape.<br /><br />Remember when you love someone, you take a piece of them with you.<br /><br />Perhaps I should this time, just to hold me over.Matthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16960572910736330188noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-70095853228200138642017-10-28T17:53:03.612-04:002017-10-28T17:53:03.612-04:00It was a short story.
Two pink lines. Sparkling ...It was a short story. <br /><br />Two pink lines. Sparkling eyes. <br />Capers on her spaghetti. Pickles in her yogurt. <br />Lazy mornings whispering names. Serena. Stephen.<br />Trips to Soho to visit pastel boutiques with the softest clothes.<br />Counting the weeks. 15. 16. 17. 18.<br /><br />It was meant to be longer, but that's where it ended. It was a short story.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11862942169982433670noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-86029634575635665682017-10-28T17:23:43.278-04:002017-10-28T17:23:43.278-04:00“So Holly,” she said to herself, “Here you are aga...“So Holly,” she said to herself, “Here you are again. Another Christmas.”<br /><br />She looked down from the ledge she was sitting on. <br /><br />“18 floors up. 18 years. 18 Christmases.”<br /><br />She could escape right here, right now. He wouldn’t even care.<br /><br />She looked at the marks on her wrists, a reminder of her fear of commitment, her fear of what it meant, her failure to escape.<br /><br />She placed her hands on her slight belly.<br /><br />“It won’t happen to you. I won’t let it,” she whispered. “Yours will be a short story.”<br /><br />Winds blew as the ledge grew farther away above her.<br />nphollandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11147914537371906782noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-81209480727328642872017-10-28T17:15:34.025-04:002017-10-28T17:15:34.025-04:00“So, honey, what’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“What do yo...“So, honey, what’s your name?”<br />“Emma.”<br />“What do you want for Christmas?”<br />“Escape Renegade and the Ariana doll.”<br />“Emma, you’re on the Naughty List. Lying to your mommy, quite the storyteller, I see. Only 18 days till Christmas, help Santa, and you’re on the Good List. Santa’s been eating too many shortbread cookies and can’t fit down the chimney. Do you know what code your mommy uses to get in your house?"<br />“Yes, 2011, when I was born.”<br />“Don’t tell mommy our secret or else you’re on the Naughty List again.”<br />“Yes, Santa.”<br /><br />This year, Santa’s gonna be getting.<br />Gingermollymarilynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15684318210445109786noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-78288695963045412892017-10-28T17:11:46.137-04:002017-10-28T17:11:46.137-04:00New Soho Station; [Orbiting base]; Cassiopeia Mino...<br /><br />New Soho Station; [Orbiting base]; Cassiopeia Minor, 18:08-11.8.2199 AD<br /><br /><br />LOG>IN-I.D.########-confirmed. ARCHANGEL ADMIN/#######-confirmed.<br />Message received:<br />[archangel] WE HAVE ARRIVED AT PRIMARY LOCATION AND TIME/END><br /><br /><br />[admin]REROUTE/EXEC:ADMIN/######-confirmed<br />QUERY[admin:level6]:CONFIRM DATE/CARBON TEST[elypsebandstat]/END><br /><br /><br /><br />REPLY[archangel]4TESTS/SHORTCARBON/CHECK<br />PRIMARY TIMESCAPE RESPONDER/DATE VERIFIED/OVER<br />WE ARE GO ON ALL TESTS:END><br /><br /><br />Internal;codecheck…withdraw protocols: <br />QUERY[admin:level6] ACCOUNT FOR TIME DRIFT / RECALCULATED?/END> <br /><br /><br /><br />REPLY[archangel]:VERIFIED. AT START DAY SEVEN>AT DESTINATION>EDEN>TWO SUBJECTS SPOTTED./END <br /><br /><br />Internal;codecheck…withdraw protocols: <br />QUERY[admin:level6]TIME LAPSE/DRIFT NEGATIVE/ IS STORY CONFIRMED> END><br /><br /><br /><br />REPLY[archangel] WE ARE NEGATIVE ON ISSUE>END<br /><br /><br />Internal;codecheck…withdraw protocols:<br />QUERY[admin:level6]ARCHANGEL NEGATIVE HOW?/ CONFIRM ANSWER TO QUERY>END<br /><br /><br /><br />CODE:default scramble channel/ shift to transponder two:<br />REPLY:[archangel] NEGATIVE ON OBJECTS/ THERE ARE NONE / [repeat] NEGATIVE ON THEIR NAVELS>END?<br />french sojournhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14262858704848580714noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-5316802588194497152017-10-28T15:45:47.827-04:002017-10-28T15:45:47.827-04:00F-ing rain.
Again.
And I got to walk home.
Agai...F-ing rain. <br />Again. <br />And I got to walk home. <br />Again.<br />And it ain’t a short walk.<br />Should I wait for Banksy and catch a ride with his basketball boys?<br />F-it.<br />Don’t need no more madcap, caper bullshit with him. <br />That’s always the story with Banksy.<br />I look out the door.<br />Again.<br />F-ing pouring.<br />I step outside and exhale.<br />I walk calm and cool like I’m fighting nature or something.<br />I think of that song Dad sings when he’s wasted. <br />Some dumbass song from when he was 18 or something.<br />“Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain.”<br />F-you, rain!Mike Hayshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06485884518411706201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-68665465785023175782017-10-28T15:22:19.621-04:002017-10-28T15:22:19.621-04:00“So horrible. 18 dead. The landscaper made a compl...“<b>So ho</b>rrible. <b>18</b> dead. The lands<b>caper</b> made a complete botch job of it. Are you sure he’s a qualified tree-surgeon?”<br /><br />“Well, he said he knew how to cut things down to size.”<br /><br />They gazed at the mass of ancient oak and crushed bodies, at life cut <b>short</b>.<br /><br />“Not a <b>story</b> we want to get out is it, old chap?”<br /><br />“No … and it looks as though he’s not finished yet.”<br /><br />“He’s a bit near isn’t he?”<br /><br />“I’m sure we’re perfectly safe.”<br /><br />“I don’t think he’s seen us.”<br /><br />“Of course he has. Oh, oh b …”Steph Ellishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02353775819602714643noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-23704672924119312392017-10-28T15:07:35.094-04:002017-10-28T15:07:35.094-04:00Rain rapped against the windowpane like a burlesqu...Rain rapped against the windowpane like a burlesque romp in 1918 SoHo. The booze was chilling. The music was hot. But the party hadn’t started when the clock struck seven. <br />That’s when he arrived.<br />Thick glasses. Short legs. Cape redder than squashed tomatoes.<br />I’d put out adverts for a hero. Figured that might pull in more dames for my soiree. <br />But this guy? <br />An impostor. No ifs, ands, or buts—this bagman wasn’t Clark Kent.<br />“Can I help you?” I asked.<br />But I knew why he’d come.<br />“Twick or Tweat,” he said, all too impostor-y cute.<br />And my chocolate vanished.<br />Megan Vhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00752842865397799428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-81721998733528046152017-10-28T14:17:53.129-04:002017-10-28T14:17:53.129-04:00Blind Date # 18
Location: An upscale wine bar in S...<br />Blind Date # 18<br />Location: An upscale wine bar in Soho<br />The Prospect: a corporate executive; a little on the short side, but cute<br />The Conversation (on the record):<br />“So, Beautiful, what’s your story?” <br />“Well, I’m thirty, never married, but looking for something serious. You?”<br />“Same.”<br />“Are you from around he-"<br />His phone buzzes and flashes a name-Erica. Personally, I think it’s rude, but wave him on as he leaves the table to answer it.<br /> Ten minutes later, he returns.<br /> “So where were we?” <br /> We settle into comfortable chatter and kiss goodbye. <br /><br /> Afterwards, I call Erica. Another cheating husband caught.Mallory Lovehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16282261391938135052noreply@blogger.com