I LUUUUUV this style of writing. Sooo many good things in here. Check it out folks.
Mr. Evelyn lit a cigarette and breathed the poison into the watery, yellow sky. It was his last cigarette in the box, but he pressed the empty box flat and slid it back into his pocket next to his lighter.
She was sleeping in some safehouse in the city. He’d asked her if she wanted something to take the edge off and she’d nodded. He didn’t see her take the valium, she wouldn’t take it in front of him, of course, but she would take it. And she would sleep. Full belly, clean sheets, a door that locked.
These were great kindnesses, but Annie…her cleverly diminutive alias, not withstanding, was too wary a creature to be courted by a dish of pasta, these soft things long forgotten.
She was built for running and she still might. She looked like a deer on stilts, her face gaunt, her eyes red…
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