Calendar Girl

She returned the books to the box they were in originally, carefully resealed them all with packing tape.

The bricks, too, were replaced in their nests of wadded paper, sealed in their boxes.

When she left the storage room, the heavy door booming shut behind her, Melinda had only one thing in her hand.

And it was marked “2004.”

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The party swirled around the house, spilled out onto the wide, Spanish-tiled patio, skirted the edges of the pool.

People mixed and mingled, laughter erupted here and there over the locust-drone of conversation, liquor and food were abundant, and the music was too loud.





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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. :)