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Drink Up

Flash Fiction They drank green cocktails with cucumber slices, ate hotdogs on buttered buns, and listened to an a cappella version of “Lilac Wine” sung by a young man with pumpkin orange hair.  “Drink up, sweets,” Ramona said. She punched her boyfriend’s shoulder.  His bald head glistened under the bar lights.  I felt the knot on my forehead. Yesterday, she caught me with my back turned. I didn’t see the book coming at me.   Tonight, she wanted her boyfriend drunk. “Sweets, do you want me?”  Pumpkin boy was now singing “Tainted Love” with a fake cockney accent. He clapped two…

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Selected Works

Guardian Angel

[flash fiction] We fell asleep on the couch, alcohol on our breaths. Mambo and cha-cha-cha beats in our knees. Damn two-dollar high-heels left welts on our feet, but we danced all night with different brilliantine men: gold teeth, mustaches, pinky rings that looked too…

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Last Kingdom in Astoria

Helena, you used to call me your King. Now your ashes are in an urn that sits in a niche at Calvary.

Mariss calls me the king like she feels nothing for her father like I’m a big joke to her. And at sixteen, she acts like I should be happy she’s around. She’s doing me a favor, and I tolerate this because I still have you watching over us, soothing my deepest insecurities. But Helena, how can you help me now?

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