I Won The Battle_A Day of Christmas Baking_Robbing Hookers_Winnie's Secret
Catalog Guide:
I Won The Battle
She was pale and still thin. Her soft skin looked translucent in the dim lightning and she signed deeply as she bent her head to look at the menu. “Bruschetta” she said out loud “now that sounds good. It says two pieces and I wonder how big they are? How about the soup? The bowl could be a large one? I don’t have to have a starter. Let’s see what the www.onedoor.ccmains are?” PASTA jumped out at her from the page. ‘No way’ she thought. ‘I could have the fish, which would be light, with the salad. I’ll ask how big the serves are’. “Excuse me” she said to a young dark haired waiter walking past with a tray fu...
A Day of Christmas Baking
Guess I’ve put this phone call off long enough. Why did my sister decide making a plum pudding for Mom and a fruitcake for Dad would be the perfect way to bring a little holiday spirit and harmony to the family? I happen to enjoy Saturdays by myself sans holiday spirit. Maybe she’ll have to work after all. Nurses’ schedules are always changing. Fingers crossed. Good. The phone’s still ringing. No answer. Oh well, I tried to confirm our plans. Just as I was set to hit the “End Call” button, I heard, “Hello?”“Oh, hi, you’re home.”“Just got in. What’s up?”“Just wanted to make sure you have tomorr...
Robbing Hookers
When the cab struck us, Mecca ricocheted off Seventh Avenue South and died. Mecca was a stupid nickname for a first-generation Chinese guy from Queens. He always said that any woman would make the journey for his love. Even dead, he looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. Maybe he lost control of the motorcycle because of a heart attack. Overeaters should not be getaway drivers. A siren wailed. There's always a siren in the city. But Mecca was past that siren's help and me, I didn't want it. I picked up the bag and limped toward the Bowery.*At home, I sat by an open window swatting gnats...
Winnie's Secret
*ABUSE*4:00 amThe paramedics pushed the gurney out of the diner and into the parking lot. The man riding it moaned as it ran over the bump of the front door. His eyes were swollen shut and a thin layer of dried blood glazed his face. The collar of his once white shirt was now a soaked crimson, fading to a light pink at his waist. His cheeks puffed as the neckbrace he wore pushed up against them and his knuckles bore battle scars. Behind the beaten man followed a young nurse with blood-soaked scrubs. He walked briskly across the lot and stepped into the vehicle with flashing emergency lights. T...