John posted the hay-man in his front yard. But, still, a man climbed in the back window and ate of his wife’s seed.
Two lovers in a rowboat. My wife and her assistant. Their lake is oil dark, still, but dangerous. Like me.
After 10 years, she expected nothing from him. When a bouquet arrived for her, she beamed. She went home and kissed him. He had no idea why.
Roland slipped silently below the waves. Gwen smiled and thought about the wind and which direction to sail, her new life a close reach.
He texted her; she texted him back. At dinner, they sat eating in a magnificent desolation, two satellites trading light.
I lost the ring in a veritable storm of shouts and tears. The wedding hadn’t gone as planned. She left him at the altar. We drove away.