The stories rarely stop when the party does.

He was not tall, or lean, but he was fashionable. He had the bushiest eyebrows, like tiny mink stoles pasted to his forehead, and a strange (but familiar) teetering gate to his walk as he meandered like a river through the empty park lawns.
"I hope I didn't insult her," the man worried to himself as he kicked an empty potato chip bag across the path. He spotted a bench looking out over the old friend, duck pond.
There our lonely man sat. Contemplating the emptiness of it all. No ducks, even. Just a sliver of a moon shaking shyly over the water. The dapper man picked up a penny, and cried.


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ganymeder about 9 years ago

Oh, I feel so sorry for him!

Overtlystreet (joined about 9 years ago)
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Songwriter, multiple-instrument player who is driven by a pesky industrious nature to continue working at a desk in order to earn small paychecks and be embedded in the underbelly of the concert industry for "experience". Warrior princess / foodie / roller coaster advocate. Attracted to bodies of water like every other human being that's not TOTES CRAY CRAY.

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The dapper man picked up a penny.
Prompt suggested by CraigTowsley


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