He announced his candidacy at his alma gator school in Florida.
“Lloyd,” the principal said, swinging her tail slowly in the swamp, “you can’t run for president.”
Lloyd never did like her much.
“I stole it,” she tells you. A small plant in a round glass pot rests innocently in her hands.
You look at her for a second, taking in her proud grin and bright eyes. “You just took it? You can’t just take table decorations at nice restaurants.” Or, looking at her now, no police sirens…
I owned the only bicycle in town. It was a beautiful shade of blue — the lighter kind, the color that a mermaid’s eyes would be as she looked slyly at you and brushed her long, glistening hair out of her face, pointy teeth flashing before she dove back under the dark waves. A traveling merchant brought a…