Chapter 8 Everyone was hurrying home before the storm hit. The train, always busy this time of day, was bursting at the seams now with people all bundled up in wool or vinyl, either swiping along the screens of their phones, or else gazing blankly into the abyssal blackness of the tunnel. I tried hard to avoid any eye contact. In a sea of commuters in grey wool and starched white cotton, my paint-splattered jeans, beat-up...

Chapter 6 I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. “Tabarnak,” Marie read my mind, “You don’t think he followed you, Penny?” I shook my head, though admittedly it was one of the first dreadful thoughts to flash through my mind. Once reason caught up, however, it occurred to me that I might’ve just stumbled unwitting into the lion’s den; that this was place where he went to mass. Is that why he wants the painting? I won...

Chapter 4 Once when I first got there. Three times when I pricked my finger. Another two at Marie. Silently, I summed my curses from the previous evening. Is that all? It was hard to remember. It was such a strange and dizzying night, and the smell of incense from the censer always made my head feel a little hazy. Well, for those at least, I’m sorry. As penance, I promised to give Marie’s bathroom a long overdue scrubbing...

Chapter 3   “Huh,” Peter turned back to me, his eyebrows arched. I remained frozen in place, unable to tear my eyes from the wall. “Huh,” he repeated, “Why uh, why didn’t you tell me you had some stuff in the show, Pens?” His tone was puzzled and penitent. Before reading the name, I could tell he’d just missed making some scathing remark at my expense. “I didn’t know,” I muttered, shaking my head. Gradually, I put the pie...

Part 1 - Roses Are Red Yes. A sunny balcony would be nice, I thought, circling another listing in crimson ink. Or maybe a roof garden. I could plant rosemary, and violets. I could paint. I bit the top of my pen and skimmed down the column to another number that didn’t threaten to ruin me. ‘Sur la rue Villeray. 3 1/2 chauffé. 1 chambre, style ouvert. Plancher bois franc. Disponible immédiatement. 500 $’ It was more than a...

“Gaaawwwd I’m so full!” the 40 year-old Layla Pope groaned. “Stretch me baby. Mmmmnnnnhhh...”Jayden Fuller obliged with aplomb, but it was bittersweet. Ms. Pope as his untouchable MILF professor. She challenged him; opened his mind to a new world. She was his better in every way. But now she was huffing and puffing with his cock buried in her, turned over and spread on her desk like a common slut. “'O brave new world,' Ms...

And the sharp dark corners of winter unfold Chiaroscuro and creases and uncertain lines. He does not know me And yet I draw him My own contrived deity. His words stained His hand the plot of Anna Karinina. Not knowing I threw him away Then drew him again in Rodin's Thinker. Again.. a star, light lost. Again.. a fish, swept transient. But he was not any of these He was the night, unfolding hands. His mouth mapping words Ea...

Light. Not sunlight. Vivid neon colors pulsing, pounding, fragmenting and fracturing, every color, blending madly, floating past, sometimes at impossible speeds before coming to a sudden halt. “Where?” Books fluttered past, pages opened like butterflies, words lifting like bees, buzzing around her head, letters spinning, cutting grooves in her flesh, lodging in her skin, some with faces, screaming obscenities, warning her...