Tag Archives: microfiction

Striptease

I swear to God I didn’t want to go. My mother told me that those things are sinful and play on the desires of the flesh. I really didn’t want to go. But the guys in my department said don’t … Continue reading

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You can be damn sure

it’s going to be a slow movie if the hero takes about ten minutes to enter the place, drag his feet across the floor turtle-like and sit down on the sofa sloth-like, eventually putting his mustachioed head in his hands. … Continue reading

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Trans Europe Express

I boarded the train in X. Smoking was much more common in those days. In France, in particular, some people would smoke even in nonsmoking compartments. Even though I had a seat reservation, I changed compartments after two men, who … Continue reading

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Happy ending

That’s what YOU call a happy ending: you plundered our joint bank account, maxed out our credit cards and ran off with the Austrian masseur who looks like Arnold reborn and is twenty-eight years younger than you. While I’m home … Continue reading

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I could definitely like that cutie

“Hey!” A short-haired blonde with freckles and a turned-up nose had come to a stop to let her Labrador or whatever that big black thing was take a dump at my entrance. “Yes?” “Better clean that up!” A mischievous nod … Continue reading

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The target

“Target is crossing street. Following.” “Love that swaying little ass of hers.” “Shut up, Jeremy.” “Wonder what she’s done that we’re going after her.” “Target keeps looking back, seems nervous.” “Reminds me of Diana. Lady Di.” “Don’t need your puerile … Continue reading

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Red metal drawer

I was a black politician, and even though I was popular among a lot of people I also had a bunch of enemies. I knew this, and I also knew that it was for the usual reasons of envy, racism, … Continue reading

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