There is a lady in the place when I stop in near closing time. She has red leather pants and a bad attitude. Which one led to the other, I wonder? There’s no way they’re not connected. A chicken and the egg scenario I’m determined to get to the bottom of. Leather pants. Man. What … Continue reading Lady in Red
Tag: short short story
Paris
They called her, The Crimson Poonani. Me: Grande Poubelle. Together we saved Paris. Or, rather, the part of it that mattered. It's dead now anyway, killed by its own excesses. Much like our love.
Muse Vassal 