The Invitation_The Former_The poker player_Anything For Yule, My Dude
Catalog Guide:
The Invitation
Eric: I called you last night…Patrice: You did?Eric: I texted, but when you didn’t reply I called and you didn’t answer. No wait, actually, I called and then I texted. Anyway, I kinda figured why you didn’t want to respond but you could’ve replied anyway. I was starting to worry…Patrice: Wait, what do you mean that you knew why I didn’t want to reply?Eric: You know. The whole staying out of drama thing. I respect that, truly.www.onedoor.cc But you could’ve still replied.Patrice: What type of drama are you getting yourself into now?Eric: Nothing. Nothing happened. I went to the party and it was all good. But...
The Former
I exit onto the third floor, faking a conversation on my cell phone until key meets lock. The heavy door clicks behind me. Nine a.m. is too early to exchange cheerful pleasantries in my book, especially right after the holidays. It’s more small talk than I can survive sober. No wife, no kids, no fur baby photos to pull up on my phone. I’m relegated to talking about the weather.A belated Christmas gift is waiting for me on the corner of my desk. A navy blue tumbler, complete with flexible straw and festive bow. “I’m a social worker, NOT a miracle worker,” I read aloud with a chuckle. A s...
The poker player
He was a player. Not in love or video games, no, he was a money kind of player. A gambler. He was a loving, caring young man, always there to make me laugh and cheer me up after my dull days at work. We got together in high school: I never really understood what he saw in me, since all the girls seemed to gravitate around him, Marcus, the kind of athletic and popular boy at the time. But he chose me, and suddenly we became a bright couple, we loved each other, and nothing else mattered. After graduating from our respective schools, we moved in together very quickly, but it seemed fair to both ...
Anything For Yule, My Dude
The little house was warm and inviting. It was wrapped with lush garland and sparking tinsel. There were twinkling lights around all the exteriors of the doors and windows. A pine wreath, wrapped in thick white and green ribbons, welcomed guests at the front door. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, and the living room, pine. The radio jingled out cheery tunes in between commercials for life insurance and blockbuster films. A small fire crackled in the electric hearth. Two men, each adorned in a festive sweater, stood facing one another in the living room. There was a nervous tension in the scent...