Saturday, December 7, 2013

Friday, December 6, 2013

That night, sleeping on $1,000 sheets, Phil wondered when the shoe would drop and he would once again be living out on the street.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

They tore open the box to find not cash, but a smaller container with the international symbol for radiation stamped on the top in a garish yellow paint. 

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Their vacation to the sunny south of France was a wind-whipped, soggy misadventure.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Ralph was a painter who hated artists, a poet who despised poesy, a gentleman farmer who disliked animals and plants.

Monday, December 2, 2013

I stood in a darkened corner of the school yard, achingly aware of my patched, second-hand clothing and what I imagined was the smell of poverty clinging to me.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

She hated being seen unless dressed to the nines, hair and make-up perfect, so when Becky accidentally locked herself out of the house that morning before her ablutions, she was forced  to hide out in the yard for the next eight hours waiting for her husband's return.