Scrapbook of a Pink Wine

Not so long ago – in a distant land, no more mysterious or enchanting than any other – when a sudden gush of wind knocked the paperweight off and flung the curtains to sail, she died. While she was still writhing on the cold cement floor beside the tattered mattress, a sheet rose from the…

Many Men’s Murphy

‘Rebecca’ He was carrying a pleasant smile. Thirty two to thirty five years old, bald, thin, not taller than 5’6″. He would turn out to be one of those occasional faces that appear before her, not more than twice in a year. She reads men so well, even at one glance. He entered into the room…