Here is a lil' excerpt from a short fiction story that I am currently working on!:
always seemed like velvet to her. It was soft, and yet…
I recalled drinking rum in San Francisco.
I recalled the smell of salt and oysters and the noise that shoes make while
stumbling down sagging alleyways. It was always like this—the smudge of a
memory. Licking the ends of its fingers, trying to make itself more than whole.
There was something
flimsy about the way it draped over tables and into laps. Its luminous mask of
Shall I attempt to catalog the eternal
buzzing of... The eternal aching of… a musty, September evening?
Sir, it was really like
I could have sworn it was like
pretend that it brought the two of you closer…But then the rum. But then the
weight. It was the kind of smoke that follows you home, the kind of smoke that
says, “the absurd outline of a doorway can contain a universe.” So she learned
to button her coat halfway, to let the smoke and the wind fill the spaces that
her body could not. She learned to count ceiling tiles and lean on fence posts when
summer became too hot.
All of this was
Kate. The smoke. The creaking--like she had been around for so long that things
no longer surprised her. She only grew older.