Twizzlers Stories

An Indeterminate Point In The Future The sunlight streams through the window, making your dirty blonde locks glow shimmer like a curtain of molten metal. You’re perched naked on a stool, wiggling hot pink painted toenails, music pumping into you from a beat-up iPod held together by tape and a little bit of grace courtesy of Granny Teague’s main man in the sky. “Lookin’ fine as hell this morning, blondie,” a voice calls up...