When the love of your life leaves you, all you can do is go fishing. Just make sure you have the right bait.
She greeted me with wide blue eyes and opened red lips. I figured her out as easily as two plus two. She sat at the bar on a backless stool wearing a backless black dress, her head turned towards me while her body leaned into the bar, a half-empty whisky glass in one hand, a nearly spent cigarette in the other, and her dark hair haloed by gray smoke.
Don't worry about where you've been or where you're going. Worry about where you are.
Cinder Block Solutions left rather disgusting after effects—PhotoShop couldn't patch up the mess.
It was Hamish’s choice to become a skinner; but, choices have consequences. The last memory he had of his little Elise was her pouty cherry lips saying “Ba-ba, Da.”
Trevor looked into Sydney's eyes, but his peripheral vision was zeroed in on Sydney's small but well contoured and shapely bust. "Do I know you?" Trevor said.
She shrugged. "Whatever flips your switch, Jack." She stood, reached behind her and pulled down the dress's zipper. She held the dress in place and stared hard at him. "You didn't turn into some freako psycho, didja?"
When he had heard the secret word for the Second Coming, Mr. Jesus ran up the street and to the walkway leading to the small house where the strange woman lived.
She was all smoke. A wisp of the woman she once was. She gazed through gin-blurred eyes at the image that stared back at her from the bar's mirror--an anamorphic fun-house mirror shadow of the woman she once was, the woman she could have still been.