He smoked pipes, ate limes, ate the gnats he swiped from the air. The lions lounged in the front yard. He chose lions because of the theme of pride. He had a rudimentary but certain understanding of pride. He stood at the front window staring at the lions, locking eyes as often as he could.

The doorbell rang. He turned quickly, spilling a squall of wine on the hardwood floor. The lions didn't stir. He heard a knock on the door. The lions stared at him.


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Qner over 11 years ago

"Spilling a squall of wine." Love that phrase!

mroshaugh over 11 years ago

Thanks! And something we've both done...

mroshaugh (joined almost 12 years ago)
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Veteran of the 90s zine revolution.
Spreading myself thin over blogs, Twitter, FB, etc.
Favorite authors include David Markson, Lydia Davis, Robertson Davies, Donald Barthelme and Richard Brautigan.

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