Calendar Girl

Date books.

Dozens of them, all neatly and compactly arranged inside. All alike, all clad in black leather, just like the one Josh carried.

Each book had a date stamped on its spine.

The box was stacked two deep with them, dating back to 1989.

Melinda selected a year at random—2003—and pulled it out, rifled through it.

Hundreds of entries in Josh’s precise handwriting filled the narrow-ruled lines of the book, some interesting and some mundane, as one would find in any such book.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)