Fired Up

“Think I’ll take my luggage to the Presidential Suite.  I’ll join you in the Main Ballroom for happy hour after I’ve freshened up.”

“What you do back there, anyway?” said Mayor, turning back to the TV.

“I’m a writer.”

“Need any paper?”

“I don’t write anything down.”

The next thing he remembered, clearly, was Mayor and the skinny girl shaking him awake at the end of March, the coffee cup in front of him looking like a swimming pool he was supposed to drink.  Mayor just looking at him like he was another mess at the bar he had to clean up, but the skinny girl was saying to Mayor:  “You don’t know.  I talked to a guy, knew him on the outside, he’s somebody. Used to be somebody, anyway.”





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. :)