❝i've delicately chosen letters to form words and words to form sentences, each sentence a colorful paint stroke on the canvas of my mind.❞ [ #1 in poetry on 27/08/16 ]
There was still a tint of light brown swirled in it. From three tiny containers of milk, the last droplets fell onto the table, vacant save for the cup of coffee. Morris tsked, opening a last little container and pouring more milk. He mixed it well and then got close enough for the smell and warmth to tickle his nose...
a short story about loss, remembrance, and love. -- what will happen when you meet a boy under the blue tree? will you remember him when he fades away?
"Meat" has been a call-guy in Chicago's gay district for over a year and seems largely satisfied with his job. Until a peculiar new client makes him question if he should be serving his meat to everyone.