EVOLUTION_Malnutrition Villa._It Was Going to be Beautiful_Harold Friedman Is Not a Junkie
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EVOLUTION
J. Galton. 11/29/22 2274 words EVOLUTION The back door banged open. Cleo stormed in. Dropped her bag, kicked it. Head down she surged toward the stairs. “Sissy, dear” even as I said it, I knew the pet name was a mistake. “Close the door. You don't live in” “I'm not sissy. I'm not dear.” Cleo's voice sounded close to tears. “And,” big sniff, “It smells like a barn.” Almost finished with the spread sheet which was due at noon, I did not have time for this, any of it. Our preteen daughter retraced her steps, closed the door and mumbled, “There. You happy, now.”“Maybe a little more th...
Malnutrition Villa.
"Good morning, world. Another day in the life of Malnutrition Villa," thought Lynnie, an ageing, free caregiver for old Bobby Dullton. She barely did her hair, before he was moaning and calling for her. Lynnie attended to his needs, he was trying to turn on the television with his mobile phone. "Up and about early," she commented. She asked herself what Jesus would do. Smile and turn the other cheek. "Captain Smiley's here!" It was a day in the life of the ageing Dulltons. Lynnie answered the summons. Lynnie affectionately titled the villa unit, Malnutrition Villa. It was the worldwide cente...
It Was Going to be Beautiful
1、 Oria happened to be standing at the window when one of the boys crushed an empty Orange Fanta can then tossed it onto the edge of the yard. He and his friend were all striped sweats, broad smiles, and voices so loud the sound spilled through the small houses along Violet Drive. If Adam were here, he would have stopped the boy and demanded he pick up the can. But Adam was dead. She’d have to fend for herself.She slipped a thick, black sweatshirt over her head then crossed the overgrown lawn barefoot to retrieve the crushed can. Under the afternoon’s damp grey sky, the neighborhood looked wor...
Harold Friedman Is Not a Junkie
It was one of those old school kettles, the kind that shakes more and more violently on the burner the closer it is to boiling. The roar of steam and the angry whistle was loud enough to cover the rattling of pill bottles as Dr. Friedman frantically unlocked the cupboard behind the pharmacist’s desk and shook out a generous handful of Percocets while his colleagues ate lunch in the next room over.The relief was instant. He hadn’t even popped one yet, but just having them in his hand was enough. To Dr. Friedman, the anticipation of the feeling was almost as good as the feeling itself. Almost.Ha...