We finished the bottle of Bombay Sapphire while looking in the rearview at a St. louis skyline fading, until it soaked into the ground.
It’s not as romantic as it sounds. My re-lit cigarette burns between my fingers as I try to run over the memories I wish I could forget.
Nobody wants to believe that some people were born with malevolence in their blood.
Even when I hear the slam of a red hand in a door or see the stain myself, I justify, I play advocate and can never have enough proof.
To me it’s all duplicity and mastery.
“Meeting the family”– by Kelley Stephens