It was an overcast day.
No other word to describe it.
Not that sunny days were better, Neville mused, pouring his second cup of hot black coffee into his antique Bavarian china cup. Just different.
He added a bump of cocaine into java, drank, and waited.
A bit lightheaded. Sweat droplets popped out on his forehead. He was going to be a happy boy.
He drained the cup, tossed it into the sink, heard it break into a million pieces, and chuckled quietly.
The maid would be furious.
Oh, well. Let her fume.
That's what he paid her for.
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General FictionA short story about a 1920s silent film star and the insecurities that stardom brings.
