More tough fiction from Some Stones Don't Roll


From Some Stones Don't Roll (FicMemOne by Stephen C. Rose) [Kindle Edition]


Abba tell me where am I now. I am in New York City do I go with that? Outside the bus sounds. Are they buses? I do not know the sounds anymore. The drip drip drip into the tub. Must hydrate the atmosphere to keep legs from itching all night long. What's a drip a small price to pay for freedom from self inflicted nail pain. She is gone now. How many shes have gone. If I could line them in a row would they go out the door into the dingy hall? Where would I be without this keyboard. Oh in New York. Why not in Bangladesh. Or at UNICEF listening to the other Stephen hold forth. I remember him cowering for no reason when all I wanted to do was tell him there was such a thing as benign genocide nothing about whatever affair he was or was not having there comes a time when you could care less about the thrills you no longer know. I miss Ernesto. I miss the woman in Capri who was going to get me started. I miss nothing and everything. Drip drip drip drip.





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