I can’t even go for a coffee on Sunday morning without falling in love.
The ash from John’s limp cigarette fell to the ground, lost in a sea of stains and scars upon the concrete steps on which he sat. His last…
For nearly ten years, through high school and into university, I blogged nightly. Most of the writing was trite and self-aggrandizing, but every once in a while I would recount a story of some noteworthy merit.
It was about 6:45 when she pulled open the old glass door of her usual coffee shop, bells breaking the morning quiet with a jingle that announced her arrival. She quickly met eyes with her usual server, and he smiled at her warmly as he, without prompt, began to prepare her usual coffee.
Chapter 1.
He wrote his ode to “Manhattan”—a love letter to a glam version of the destination that was now tattered in pathetic fallacy, rain meeting tear as they together fell from faces freshly feeling the remorse of a newfound President-elect.
It was about 7:30 pm on Sunday night when the credits of the season’s last episode appeared on the screen before them, snaps of white light strobing across the otherwise-dark room as each name scrolled past.
Jonathan looked down at his empty glass, it a fitting metaphor for his life.
His most recent sales trip had been a disaster. He was convinced that he was mere inches from crossing the finish line with the prospect — a handshake away from vacation, and a break, and another lease on…
The crowd huddled closely around Lindsay’s monitor. Only the occasional chuckle and whisper of “oh, I could do that” escaped the group’s rapt awe.
As the audience remained entranced, Steven passed by. He noticed the entire Marketing team, otherwise heads down…
