A Little Off the Nose_Moot Meditations_There is Nothing Funny About Murder_Whistle
Catalog Guide:
A Little Off the Nose
Fiametta clenched the linen sheet draped around the painting. Where in God’s name was he, she thought – or rather, His Excellency? Out of the corner of her eye, Fiametta could just spot her manager, Signore Giulio, glancing at his pocket watch. Fifteen minutes after noon had come and gone. Though His Excellency had demanded that Fiametta complete the portrait in a bare two weeks, it seemed that Bishop Antonio Cipriani took a more leisurely view of his own time.Fiametta sighed as her brown eyes wandered to the quadro riportato artwork overhead on the palace’s arched ceiling. The Palazzo Ciprian...
Moot Meditations
Hey it’s me again:What should I be doin’? more whining, more pining, more “trying” and “finding”? praisin’ my own pedestal, for a me I ain’t gone be(.)(?) On this hot typical Thursday, I’m staring at you…blinking cursor on the blank page. I should be wearing your favorite bracelet: translucent pearls of “today’s the day” but it popped when I wasn’t thinking about them. Now they’re litter somewhere on the floor with the rest of my unfulfilled promises and gaudy protestations. My Sanctuary. Home to an abandoned forest of mostly empty water bottles. Books stacked in sloppy gradients of “I’ll r...
There is Nothing Funny About Murder
There is Nothing Funny about MurderThe Sixth Sense Some days have a way of enforcing you should not have decided to get out of bed. From the time his office door opens, admitting a man he would come to know as Joseph H Pomeroy, TJ Scobie is overwhelmed by the recognition, this is definitely one of those days. His sixth sense engages the high alert setting as soon as the man asks, “Is this the office of TJ Scobie the Private Detective? Bit small isn’t it? More like a broom cupboard.”Two months ago TJ parted with a considerable sum of money to a Sign writer to have him quite clearly emblazon th...
Whistle
“What did you say?” I didn’t even bother to take the kettle off, I let it whistle as I repeat myself. He still hasn’t heard, and is miserable at reading lips. To tell him this while making my usual cup of tea, casually, as though I didn’t have this planned for the last ten months, seems fitting. Like there isn’t an alarm that will be going off www.onedoor.ccon my phone in the next hour congratulating me on making the biggest step in my adult life. A step made five years too late, that’s my style for most things. It’s too late for me to cry over the many hours wasted. My piece is said a third time. He hears ...