At her touch the raspy scales constricted and coiled, tensed into an anxious lowercase e.
Somewhere in the dusk a bird begins its goodnight song, the tune more mournful now, more wistful now. What does he know?
The Airbnb was quaint and quirky and we blew in with the wind, strewing makeup bags and wine coolers across the place like our signature: four best friends, there to whoop it up.
She feels it beating at its cage like desperate fists pounding inside a coffin that’s been closed too soon, buried too soon.
I thought about him all day, kicking myself for not asking his name. I had no idea I’d have another chance.